


Songs from the Burning House

by ToothPasteCanyon (DannyFenton123)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-08-08 20:52:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16436564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DannyFenton123/pseuds/ToothPasteCanyon
Summary: Marcia Sinderson was born to be a rockstar. They could take her life, but they couldn't take the fire from her spirit.Originally titled, 'The Soul Who Danced Before There Was Music'





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Potentially triggering content - scroll to endnotes for further details.

                Marcia Sinderson was born to be a rockstar. You could see it in her eyes, you could see how people turned their heads when she came through the door. She sang like an angel, but she strutted around stage like she was God and she created it. At 16, she snuck away from home to play her first concert at a bar. It was thundering that night, but the applause was louder.

                She was born to be a rockstar. She was 19 when her first single made it big. It played on the radio, and she turned it up. Was that vain? Oh, of course. Marcia reveled in the attention. Paparazzi flashed her, and she let them put the shine in her eyes. She came into money, and she spent it like it was burning.

                House. Heels. Phone. Clothes. All for the show. All for the rush.

                Marcia was born to be a rockstar. She had that fire. Her fans were kindling, and they stoked her. The more there were, the brighter she blazed. She was a marvel on stage; everyone said her concerts were the best they’d ever been to. And afterwards, she’d sit behind a desk and let you behold her glory. Bring sunglasses.

                “Hey, you liked my show? Oh, thank you so much! It means the world to me, really.”

                “I’ll sign that card for you! Let me get my special pen – whaddya want me to write? ‘Best fan ever’? Ooh, don’t tell the guy behind you! Haha!”

                “Hey! Oh, is that your kid! How’d you like my show, little man? Here, have some stickers! I’ve got soooo many sheets.”

                And on, and on, until her pen ran out of ink and her smile wouldn’t stay on her face. And then she’d go to a party – not to her empty house – and live it up until daybreak.

                Day break. Day broke one morning, and so did Marcia. They didn’t find her for a full week. Deep in the forest, in the centre of a summoning circle, she waited for them. Police officers turned away and vomited at the sight of her – maybe her presence was still a little too bright for them. They searched and searched for the perpetrators, for clues, for witnesses, but they found little more than ash and chalk and crispy skin.

                They had been thorough. They had planned it all out. They had waited a long time to punish their daughter, who had gone so astray.

                Marcia was born to be a rockstar. Despite everything, she achieved it. She burned bright, and she burned short. They snuffed her out just days before she turned 21. Now she could never joke to her many friends about how she could finally drink and not break the law.

                That, Marcia thought, was a crying shame. She felt her lips twitch upwards when she thought about it, but for once she wasn’t smiling. And as she sat and watched the police comb over the forest, another soul appeared next to her.

                He was a demon. He called her Mizar, and he was angry. So angry.

                She wasn’t scared. She was angry too.

                Because Marcia Sinderson was born to be a rockstar, and her parents had taken her life, but they couldn’t take the fire from her spirit. It was still there, she was still there, and she was going to burn them down.


	2. Chapter 2

                A gas station in the centre of New Hollywood. Two o’clock in the morning.

                “Yes, ma’am. So that’s one pack of skittles, one slushie and one hot chocolate.”

                The woman in front of the register grinned. “Yyyyup.”

                “That’ll be-“ The cashier paused as she heard the woman stifle a giggle. “That’ll be four dollars.”

                “Here you go!”

                “Ma’am, these are tens.”

                “Oh, they are? Cool!”

                The woman waltzed over to the drink station and started filling up her various beverages. A TV was on by the counter, set to the news.

                “Police have uncovered a new lead in the Marcia Sinderson investigation,” A reporter was saying. A fuzzy image of a truck running through an intersection appeared on screen. “Have you seen this vehicle? Traffic cameras caught it speeding away from her last known location in the early hours of the 17th. If you have any information about this-“

                “Man,” The woman started. “That Marcia Sinderson thing, huh? Awful.”

                The cashier nodded.

                “You know… I actually met her once.”

                “Oh, that’s cool.”

                The woman covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “She’s pretty great.”

                “Yeah, she was. Uh, ma’am, your drink is spilling.”

                Scalding hot chocolate came gushing onto her fingers. “Has such a cool singing voice! You know, the magazines all said-“

                “Ma’am! Ma’am!”

                “Oh, whoops.” She took it away with a steaming hand. “Well, nice chat. Glad I could contribute to the economy. Hey, wanna see a cool trick?”

                “Um-“

                “Look at me!” The woman flipped the slushie around and dumped it on her head. “I have brain freeze!”

                “Okay. I’m gonna have to ask you to leave-“

                She then threw the hot chocolate at her own face. Scalding liquid dripped down her chin and onto the floor. “And now I’m blind! Eh? Eh? I bet the look on your face is priceless right now.”

                It was.

                “Not a fan? That’s alright. My brand of humor is, heh, a bit ghoulish.” She chuckled as she felt around. “Okay, where’s the door, where’s the door… have an awesome day, random cashier lady!”

                She stumbled out of the gas station, leaving the cashier speechless. That was perhaps the third weirdest customer she’d ever had.

                Outside, meanwhile, the woman staggered around to the back of the building. Her hands were burned and red, but to her they were getting colder, number. She stopped, and she stepped _outside_.

                Marcia Sinderson’s ghost stepped out of the body. It crumpled behind her like shed skin, falling and cracking its head on the grimy concrete. Marcia gave a great stretch, her ghostly arms clipping through the wall of the gas station.

                “Haha! That was great! Hey, Al! Did’ja see me?”

                The shadows opened yellow eyes. Alcor appeared from them, a frown creasing his face. “I thought we were doing your bucket list.”

                “And we are! Do you know how much I missed just going to the gas station after my career took off?” She giggled. “She didn’t even recognize me. I was talking about me and she had no idea! Didn’t even think it was weird or anything.”

                Alcor snapped his fingers, and the body on the concrete dissolved into shadow. “She did think it was weird, actually. Just less weird when you poured boiling hot chocolate all over my meatsuit.”

                “Yeah, yeah, Mr Pedantic over here’s gotta be all technical. Aren’t you, like, Alcor? You’re supposed to love this prank stuff. I’m just trying to have some fun with the whole ghost thing.” A loud car went by, and Marcia looked over at the road. “Hey! What if I got in another meatsuit and just ran into the intersection?”

                “No. Let’s not do that.”

                “Why not? It’s not like I’m gonna get any dead-er.” Marcia shrugged. “Yeah, okay, that’s probably not a good idea. Can I have another meatsuit, though?”

                “For what?”

                “I dunno. I’ll do something with it.” She passed her hand through the wall. “Feels weird like this.”

                “Feels numb, right.” Alcor’s eyes turned sad. “I know-”

                “Hey, hey, don’t need the heart-to-heart, buddy. Just gimme me a suit.” She blinked. “Uh, please. Man, I sound like an asshole sometimes.”

                “It’s alright. One second.”

                Alcor stepped back, and waved his hand. Shadows began knitting themselves around Marcia’s grey form, shifting into muscle and flesh and clothes. The woman who stood before him looked very little like her living self, with short, reddish hair and freckles all across the bridge of her nose. He watched her clench her fists once or twice, her happy aura sobering somewhat as she felt that warmth, that touch again.

                As quickly as the feeling appeared, it was pushed out of mind again. Marcia bent down and picked up something from the ground. Skittles?

                Remembering what she had done with the slushie and the hot chocolate, Alcor took a step back. “What are you gonna do with those?”

                “I’m gonna eat’em.” She opened the packet and offered it to him. “Want some?”

                “No. I’m fine.”

                “Alright.” Marcia popped one in her mouth. Taste. She hadn’t tasted anything in three weeks. She paused. She tilted her head back and emptied it into her face. Skittles went everywhere, on the street, down her throat – one was even in her nose when she came back up and let out a short cough. She grinned at Alcor with chipmunk cheeks.

                “I fu-ing loff shkittols.”

                Alcor couldn’t help but laugh, and Marcia joined in. They were having a good time, and in the back of his mind, he knew he’d regret it.

 

* * *

 

                Walking down the street, Alcor watched Marcia wave at some guy standing by the bus stop. He turned away and buried his face in his phone; Marcia turned away and grinned up at Alcor.

                “I could do this all day.”

                Alcor snorted, but that voice in the back of his mind tempered his amusement. “All day, huh. Hey, Marcia…”

                “Y’ellow.”

                “You know we’re sort of on a time limit to do all the stuff you want to do, right?”

                Marcia rolled her eyes. “This again.”

                “I know it sucks that I keep bringing it up, but I have to. You know, you’re a ghost.” She pointedly looked away, but he kept talking. “You don’t have a body, so your soul will… degrade. You’ll start acting in ways that you probably wouldn’t, and-“

                “Hey, ice cream!” Marcia pointed at a darkened shop. “I want ice cream. You want ice cream right? Everybody loves ice cream! Let’s break in.”

                “Marcia.”

                “Ohhhh my goddd. Will you stop talking about souls and bodies and all that weird shit? You sound like my stepdad, and believe me, that is not a good look.”

                “All I’m saying is that if you have something that you really want to do, you should probably do it sooner rather than later.” Alcor grimaced. “You don’t have time to put it off.”

                Marcia glared at him. “You know this just happened, so I think I have a little time.”

                “I mean, three weeks ago is-“

                “Gross. Three weeks.” She curled her lip. “Look, I’ll get on it, okay? Jesus Christ, you’re a moodkiller. Every five seconds, ‘Hey, by the way, you’re dead.’ You don’t have to keep mentioning that. _I’m aware_.”

                Alcor put his hands up. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.”

                “Now, what do do, what to do- hey, look!” She skipped towards a bright neon sign. “Big ol’ nightclub. That’s still open!” Then she turned to Alcor, a cheeky grin slashed across her face. “So is any dance floor you’re on a devil’s dance floor?”

                “Oh, haha. I mean, I’m not a great dancer, so technically-“

                She stumbled over and grabbed his hand. “Come on, devil. You’re dancing.”

                “Heh… hey, wait.”

“What? You shy? Come oooonnn!”

His smile dipped. “Seriously wait, Marcia. You need a break from that body.”

                Marcia paused. Yup, she could feel that numbness creeping up her hands again. She staggered to the side of the building and scowled at her buckling knees. “Ugh, you’re right. What’s wrong with your stupid bodies? Never had this problem in mine.”

                “Yeah. Things are a little different now.” Alcor offered a hand, but she slapped it away. “Sorry.”

                She rolled her eyes, but said nothing more. He stayed close behind her as she grappled her way into an alley.

 

* * *

 

                Alcor was no great expert on nightclubs, but this one seemed a little seedy. It looked like the night was winding down; music was still blaring on the speakers, but the dance floor was sparse and most of the clubbers were slumped on chairs, rising up only occasionally to gulp down the last of their drinks.

                Marcia didn’t seem to mind. She grinned at Alcor and said something as she marched him over to the dance floor. It looked a bit like, ‘I love this song!’

That or ‘Anna sis bomb’; he couldn’t really tell.

                The music was killing his ears, there was a musty smell in the air, but Marcia raised his arm and did a little twirl off the tips of his fingers. She released him and started doing her own dance moves as the chorus ramped up, jumping around the floor with the ease of a professional. Fluid, spontaneous, graceful – it was hard to believe it wasn’t choreographed. She closed her eyes, and she sang along, and there was no one in the world but her and no time in the world but this one moment.

                Alcor just stared.

                Dead? Everyone around him was dead, but she was so very alive in every sense of the word. She just danced and lived as effortlessly as a fire burned, with no concern for when it might be snuffed out.

                “Dance, doofus!” A lull in the music let him hear her words. “Or are you just gonna stand there and stare at me? I’m gonna get stage fright!”

                Alcor smiled. “I’m not that great at dancing.”

                “What?”

                “I said I’m not that great at dancing!”

                “Can’t hear you!”

 Alcor gave up – he couldn’t really hear her either. He shuffled through some awkward steps and bopped his head a bit; the kind of thing that got him through middle school dances. Marcia’s face lit up, and that made him feel a bit braver. He did a little hop and skip and stomped his foot down on the beat. It felt good.

 “Oh, he’s got the moves! Go for it, Al!”

 And there they were, two dead people dancing like they’d die tomorrow. And when the song faded out, Alcor found a great big grin across his face that just wouldn’t go away.

 Wow.

 Alcor danced a little bit more, but he never quite let go like he did on the first song. Marcia wandered off, and he stood to the side to gather his thoughts again.

 This was just… really nice. He missed having a Mizar to pal around with; he’d been hesitant to approach the last few reincarnation cycles. Not that there was anything wrong with them, but they just seemed to have pretty uneventful lives. He didn’t want to disturb them, with his, well...

 Baggage.

Marcia, though. Alcor sighed, and the smile finally died. As nice as it was to have her around, he knew it wouldn’t just be nice forever. She’d come and go, he’d be alone again, and the happy memories today would tear his heart out tomorrow. Especially if it ended badly.

He was being pessimistic, he knew. A real sad sack, a buzzkill, a wet blanket. And maybe he should just shove it all to the side, forget about the end, and just let her do what she wanted. He didn’t know if he could, but maybe he should try.

After all, she didn’t have long to live it up. He had an eternity to get over it.

                “Hey, Al!”

Alcor turned around. Suddenly, her happy face was jarring him again. She grabbed his arm. “You’ve got to see this!”

                He let her lead him over to a quieter corner, where a little stage was set up. Mirrors framed the back, and a karaoke machine was set up at the front, two microphones resting on top.

“Look!” She tossed a microphone to him. “Isn’t this great? And, I checked and they have two of my songs. These guy’s’ve got good taste. Watch me blow them out of the water – you can sing backup.”

“Um, I don’t know…”

“Come on, dude! It’ll be fun! Just one, I promise; the other one doesn’t have backup vocals anyway.”

Alcor sighed. “Okay.”

“Awesome!” She jumped on stage and helped him up. Once they were there, she started the song and began talking into the microphone as the intro played.

“Helloooo random nightclub!” A few people came over as she started talking; they’d seen her dance, and now they wanted to see her sing. “We’re singing, heh, my favourite song – it’s called ‘If I’ve Learned One Thing From You’ and-“

“Rest in peace, Marcy!”

Marcia shot finger guns at the guy in front of the stage. “I’ll get right on that! Ahem, you ready, Al?”

                Al kept his eyes on the screen. The intro cut out, the vocals scrolled past and he started to sing, but quickly he realised he was singing alone. He glanced over.

“Marcia? Marcia?”

Marcia stood there staring at him, unmoving, unblinking, her eyes wide and her mouth open like she was caught midsentence. Only she wasn’t quite staring at him; something over his shoulder had caught her eye, and frozen her. Even her aura had frozen, her happy yellow paling into something even he could not read.

Alcor turned around. Behind him was a mirror, and inside that mirror was Marcia. The real Marcia, behind the skin and flesh that hid her from view. The grey, pale Marcia, the Marcia whose hair had been burned away and whose hands had been reduced to stubs. The Marcia without face or features, the Marcia whose clothes had melted and fused into her chest, who had lain in the centre of a summoning circle for a week, dead.

                Because this was the dead Marcia, and Alcor could see the horror in her eyes when she looked at herself in the mirror, saw what had been done to her. What had been done to her…

Alcor reached out. “Marcia-“

                He touched her, and she _screamed_. It was an earsplitting, terrified sound that seemed to come straight from her soul. She grabbed his hand with a white-knuckled grip and threw it away as she scrambled back. And she fell, and in that moment her spirit tore away from the body, gone in a flash to who knows where.

                Alcor stood there stunned. The chorus to Marcia’s song was ramping up, but nobody was singing. The little crowd gathered beneath the stage just stared at him.

“Um.” Alcor looked down at the body on the floor, and back up at the crowd. He should deal with this. “Don’t worry, she’s not real.”

                Somebody frowned at him. “Not… real?”

He snapped his fingers, and the body disappeared. “Yup, and now I’m gonnagobye.”

Back in the Mindscape. Alright, now to deal with the much larger problem of Marcia. He could easily see where she was; it was how to approach that he had a problem with. He paused and listened.

Dark, dark thoughts. That veneer of happy yellow around her aura was nowhere to be found; everything was bubbling over. That anger he felt the first day he met her… he felt that again. They had done that to her, and now she was wandering the streets but nobody would see her. What they had _done_ to her…

Alcor materialized on the sidewalk, some distance away. Still, she immediately noticed him, and came racing over.

“Can I just-“ She wrapped her arms around him, but they went through. Her face crumpled. “Goddammit. Goddammit! I just wanted to hug you.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Marcia mumbled. “I don’t even know what that was. I don’t know why I did that. Well, I know, but it was stupid. I’m so stupid.”

                “Hey, hey, it’s okay.”

                “It’s not okay!” She held up her translucent hands. “None of this is okay! And I don’t know what I’m gonna do! You keep saying I don’t have long to do what I want to do, but I don’t even know what I want! I’m dead, Alcor! What am I supposed to do? Why am I still here?”

Alcor didn’t know what to say. Marcia took a deep, shaking breath she didn’t need.

“Okay.” Her voice was small. “Can I just… can I just have a body? Because I can’t deal with this right now.”

That, Alcor could do. And when she was covered up with skin again, the first thing she did was give him a hug. She squeezed him tight, grabbed little folds in his suit and felt the fabric on her fingers.

Carefully, Alcor hugged her back.


	3. Chapter 3

They weren’t in New Hollywood anymore. They were near the border of the Californian Island Federation, on a floating island above the Las Vegas Penninsula. There stood a small town called Rend. It had little claim to fame; back during the California Incident it was a temporary base for rescue efforts, but that was about it. It was a magical place full of tired people who didn’t rock the boat and expected everyone else to do the same.

It was a place Marcia hadn’t seen in years – four years, to be exact, but it felt longer. She was still a little hesitant as she stood at the skytram station, like she could feel the island rocking under her feet.

“Maybe this isn’t what I wanted.” Her voice came out small, scared. She didn’t like it.

Next to her, Alcor crossed his arms. “I can’t tell you whether it is.”

“Well, that’s a non-answer if I’ve ever heard one.”

He shrugged.

“Heh. You ever been to a floating island?”

“Yeah, I’ve visited a few of them on summons. They’re pretty cool.”

“They’re… interesting.” Marcia started walking. “I thought it was cool when I was a kid, but there’s really nothing here but the view. Seriously, they don’t even have a cinema. I used to – heh – steal my mom’s credit card and ride the Skytram down to the mainland to watch movies.”

Alcor raised his eyebrows. “That’s not great.”

“Honestly? It was shitty, but I don’t even feel bad about it. You haven’t met her.” They turned onto a sidewalk, an empty road on one side and a forest on the other. She kicked a stone. “I just wanted to have some fun.”

A single red car passed them by. Marcia squinted at the driver’s seat, but she didn’t recognize them.

“My stepdad drives a red car like that.” She said when Alcor looked at her. “I mean it wasn’t his car, but I was just checking. His is uglier, haha! Yeah…”

Just checking. Checking over her shoulder, checking Alcor’s face, checking her voice to keep the worry out of it. This entire place made her on edge and she hated it. It wasn’t anything like the city; there was no gas station, no nightclub, no bright lights or loud sounds to distract her from the uneasy feeling in her gut. Just the trees rustling in the wind and the trudge of her footsteps along an awfully familiar path: back home.

She felt like she was fifteen again, with her mother’s credit card in hand and a million excuses lined up on her tongue in case she got caught.

She was… scared. Which was crazy, because she was already dead. What they’d done to her… they couldn’t do any worse.

“Right or left?”

Marcia looked up. The road forked here, and she smiled when she remembered where the right road led.

“Oh, hey! We could stop by my old school. Loved that place – you know, people were always surprised when I said that on interviews.” She snorted. “Why do people always peg me as one of those ‘fuck school’ types? I mean I never finished it, but I was a pretty good student.”

“Hey, me too!” Alcor looked down at her. “…What?”

“Where did you go? Demon High?”

“Ah. Right.” His wings twitched. “Well, I wasn’t a demon back then.”

She grinned. “What, did you have to pass a class or something? Demoning 101?”

“No, no. It was a normal school. It was- it’s a long story, okay?”

“Suuure it was.” She nudged him. “But hey, glad to know there’s demon nerds too.”

Alcor gave a thin smile. “I’m the only one in the world. So, uh, right or left?”

The school was to the right. Marcia, though, found herself drawn to the left. It wasn’t something she could explain, but she started walking nonetheless.

                She started talking so she wouldn’t have to think about it. “Yeah, school was cool. I had an awesome drama teacher – her name was Miss Kindle. Literally, the best. I always thought I’d come back and visit her once I made it big… whoops.”

“There’s still time.”

“Yeah.” Marcia kept walking left. “Maybe later.”

The trees were starting to thin out. The first few houses popped up on the side of the road, and Marcia started to stumble.

“Goddammit.” She caught Alcor’s shoulder before she went facefirst into the sidewalk. Marcia scowled at the concrete. “You know what this feels like? Like I’m playing some arcade game, and now ding ding, time’s up. Please insert another coin to continue.”

She stepped outside the body, and the last little bits of sensation faded away. Wind had been blowing in her face; it was strange to feel it stop, even when the trees around her were still moving. Turning around, she saw Alcor had already gotten rid of the body.

He stared at her with a pitying expression that rubbed her the wrong way. She clapped her hands. “Right, glad that’s sorted. Onwards!”

They kept walking. Marcia noticed old neighbors out on their porches, mowing their lawns, enjoying their lazy Sundays. They didn’t look much older than they did when she left. She remembered how some of them used to wave at her, but obviously that wasn’t happening now.

She looked down at the ground, down at her ghostly feet. How come she was walking when she could literally pass through buildings? Couldn’t ghosts float?

Marcia tried a little jump, but gravity put a stop to that scheme rather quickly. She stumbled forwards and righted herself.

“You alright?” Alcor asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just tripped.”

“On what?”

Marcia made a face. Good question.

“Ghost… stones?”

Alcor’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, of course. A common phenomenon.”

“Yeah, that was weak sauce. I was trying to fly.” Marcia rolled her eyes. “Of course I don’t get any of the cool perks about being a ghost.”

“I mean you can eventually, but you’re probably a little too heavy at the moment.”

“Say what?”

“Well, your soul’s still carrying around all your personal thoughts and memories and emotions – all that gets pretty heavy over a lifetime. But it’ll shed off, and then…“ Alcor seemed to catch himself. He stopped dead. “Um.”

They stared at each other for a second. Marcia moved first.

“My house is the next street over.” She pointed. “We’re close.”

Alcor cleared his throat. “Let’s, uh, let’s go, then.”

They continued without a word. Marcia walked, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that her steps were a little lighter on the ground than they had been before.

The house came into view. The first thing Marcia noticed was that firetruck-red sports car parked crookedly in the driveway, on an island where none of the roads had a speed limit above 40. The building itself was plain and pale, with large windows across the first floor. It looked like the lawn out front had just been laid; she could still see the fissures between the patches of turf.

This was it. This was the house of the people who murdered her. At the same time, it still looked a little like home.

She stepped across the lawn. Stopped at the window. Nothing was pulling her forwards anymore.

“Well, hello there,” Marcia said, mostly to herself. “Long time no see.”

“This was your house?”

“Yyyyup. This was home sweet home. Let’s see what’s going on inside, huh?” Marcia peered inside. “And there they are, in their natural habitat.”

She could see a cluttered living room, with clothes heaped up on seats and glasses overcrowding tables. The TV was on; Marcia couldn’t see what it was tuned to, but she had a hunch.

Three figures were in the room. The first, the biggest, was her half brother Isa. He was standing almost directly in front of the television, his arms crossed. He worked out religiously in his room – you could see the muscles through his shirt. She remembered how his hands felt on her shoulder, and she shivered.

Father Ambrose was the tall, thin man perched on the closer side of the couch. Her stepfather had his laptop on his knees and a phone against his ear, and by the way his thin face contorted he was clearly having some sort of argument. Nothing new there. The only thing Marcia was surprised about was how he wasn’t wearing those black cult robes he was constantly sulking around in. He didn’t look any better in a dirty shirt and boxers, she’d tell you that.

And there was her mother, old Mrs Medea Sinderson. Marcia couldn’t see her well behind the angrily gesticulating figure of her stepfather, but she could see her head was down – she wasn’t looking at the TV. Marcia shifted, and she could see a brown book in her hands… it was the photo album, wasn’t it. That stupid baby pictures album she used to point to all the time, and say ‘what happened to my lovely baby, Marcy? You were such a lovely baby.’

Marcia hadn’t thought about that album in a long time, but she remembered it with a flush of anger. Her mother murdered her, and now she was looking at fucking baby photos!

She clenched her fists. Oh, she wanted to burn that album. She wanted to get back at all of them, sitting pretty in their living room while she was supposed to fade away outside. After what they did to her, _what they did to her_ …

Marcia pushed a hand through the glass. Weirdly enough – and this snapped her out of her sudden rage – the glass seemed to push back.

“Ah.” Alcor said. “They’ve got a ward up. Don’t worry, I can break that.”

He poked it. Then he frowned, and pushed a little harder. His hand went through.

“That was… stronger than I thought it would be.”

Marcia rolled his eyes. “My stepdad’s some paranoid cultist guy. Sounds about right.”

“Yeah, I know his type.” Alcor’s expression darkened. “Well, it’s open now. What do you want to do?”

“I think…” She took one big step inside. All of them were there, the people who did this to her. She scowled. “I think I wanna let these guys know that I’m still here.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note for abuse.

                Marcia didn’t remember her father. He died when she was four. She used to have a photograph of him. His eyes were like hers: brown, and sort of empty when he smiled for the camera. She didn’t know how he died, or much about him at all. She’d have to ask her mother, and her mother… well, she was another story.

                Marcia did remember her Father. Father Ambrose Sinderson. He was just in the background all her childhood, holed up in the basement with his laptop. She avoided him when she could - he was… strange. Intense. Sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night, cold through two layers of blankets and hearing his voice below her.

                Once, she did go downstairs. Once, and never again. She had to be somewhere around eight or nine – she remembered she’d stayed up to practice her lines for a school play. She was just in bed getting comfy when she felt that coldness wash over her.

                It was hard to describe. It wasn’t like a rush of air, it was more like she was suddenly lying down on stone, and she could feel it seep up into her bones. She sat up, and suddenly her dark bedroom loomed with shadows. She turned the light on, but she still felt weirdly unsafe.

                His muffled voice came from below, just like the coldness. She couldn’t make out what he was saying. She never could when this happened; it just sounded like he was chanting or singing something.

                Marcia got out of bed. Hugging her fuzziest stuffed penguin for bravery, she crept up to the door and opened it a crack, listening closely. Yes, he was chanting. But there was another voice… a quieter voice. As she stood there, making out only a word or two, that voice faded out, and the coldness disappeared.

                Ambrose said a few more things, and then he was quiet, too. She could hear him come up the basement steps, and a couple of seconds later she could hear the microwave come on. Wow, she remembered thinking, it was way past dinner time. Maybe he was eating breakfast.

                The microwave stopped and beeped, and Marcia could see him pass by the hall to sit down at the table. He was wearing those black robes that she always wondered about. Really, what was he doing down there? What was that voice?

                She could hear him eating his breakfast. The coldness was long gone. Marcia hesitated, and then she opened the door wider and crept down the hall, moving as quietly as a young child could. Evidently she hadn’t been very quiet, because he was looking up at her when she peeked around the corner.

                He was a very thin, gaunt man. Marcia thought his cheeks looked like a skeleton’s, and his eyes were sunken but gleaming. He didn’t really have any expression when he looked at her – just a thoughtful blankness.

                He didn’t say anything, but he waved at her. Marcia actually thought that was kind of sweet, so she smiled and waved back.

                “Hi.” She whispered. Her mother and her brother were asleep next door. “Why are you up?”

                “I’m eating.” Ambrose said.

                “Why are you eating?”

                “I’m hungry.”

                “No, why are you eating now?” She looked at the time on the oven. “It’s one AM. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

                “Shouldn’t you? You have school tomorrow.” His eyebrows rose. “Your mother wouldn’t be pleased to see you out of bed.”

                A rush of fear went through Marcia. She stepped back. “Please don’t tell my mom.”

                “Oh, I won’t.” Ambrose smiled with his lips. “It’ll be our little secret.”

                Then he looked down and started shoveling food into his mouth. Marcia, somewhat cautiously, made her way over to the seat across from him. She squeezed her penguin tightly.

                “Why are you eating so fast?” She wrinkled her nose. “You’re gonna get hiccups.”

                “I have things to do.”

                “What things?”

                He’d finished his meal. He looked up at her, and there was a strange shine in his eyes. “It’s hard to explain. I could show you.” He leaned forwards. “Do you want to see?”

                “Is it in the basement? Mom said you didn’t want me in the basement.”

                “You probably didn’t hear her right. You can come down there any time you want, little girl.” He stood up, and reached for her hand. When she drew it away, he grasped her arm. “I’ll show you.”

                He didn’t pull hard, but he pulled firmly. Marcia let him lead her past the kitchen, over to the basement stairs. She stopped there.

                “It’s dark.”

                “It’s not that dark. I’ll show you.”

                Marcia squinted as she went down the steps. The stone was cold on her feet, and she could smell… smoke? As she got lower, she could see a ring of candles still wisping at the wick, illuminated by the harsh blue light of a laptop. The ceiling was low here, and much of the space was taken up by boxes scrawled over with black marker – ‘SAC CHCK’ ‘SUMNG CHLK’ ‘LMB BONE’, and others with even more nonsensical labels.

                “Here we are.” Ambrose said as they reached the last step. He didn’t let go of her arm. “My office.”

                “You have a weird office.”

                “It is an office. You might not see it, but I am actually a very important man.” He looked down at her. “Do you know what a CEO is, Marcia?”

                “Kinda. It’s like the head business person?”

                “Yes, well, I am like the CEO of a … dedicated group of people.” He led her over to his laptop. “Every day I give them orders on here.”

                "What kind of orders?”

                “Many different orders. Most of them don’t come from me, though.”

                “Who do they come from?”

                “You could say, from my boss.”

                “But I thought you were the CEO.” She frowned. “So you’re like the second CEO.”

                Ambrose shook his head. “No. No. I’m in charge, but there is someone above me.”

                “But wait. How can you be in charge if someone else-“

                “You ask too many questions, little girl.” He cut her off with a glare. “It isn’t to be questioned, it’s just to be accepted. Nobody can be higher than him.”

                “Who’s him?”

                “Him?” Ambrose tapped his computer once and turned to the circle of candles. “Avalpur. He of the Eternal Night.”

                Marcia blinked. “I’ve never heard anyone named like that.”

                It sounded kind of stupid.

                “No, you’ve never seen anything like him.” Ambrose smiled, and squeezed her arm. He seemed more energized now, as he stepped towards the circle. “He was just here. Speaking into my ears. No other mortal has this kind of privilege. This kind of power!”

                Marcia looked back at the stairs. “Can I go back to my room? I’m tired.”

                “No, no, you don’t understand. You can’t understand.” He brought her closer, his eyes wide as saucers, the computer’s light reflecting off his skeleton face. “I. Have. The. Truth. And people know it. They’d follow me to the ends of the earth to hear my words!”

                She shrunk back. “Please let me go.”

                “I am a god! I can control everything! I can control you! With my mind, and all I need is…” He reached down and grasped her stuffed penguin. “So many memories. It would be valuable.”

                “Hey, let him go! That’s mine!

                He sniffed it deeply. “Innocence. Avalpur would love to rip this apart.”

                “Let him go! No!” Marcia paused, and kicked him between the legs. It didn’t instantly drop him like in the movies – it didn’t even seem to hurt him - but he paused, and she wiggled out of his grip. She grabbed her penguin; he held on, he pulled it towards him, and she screamed.

                The shriek echoed through the house, and Ambrose immediately let go. Marcia bolted for the door and she didn’t look back until she was in her room, the door slammed shut and locked behind her.

                Later, her mother would coax her out. They’d sit on the dinner table together, and Marcia would tearfully tell her what happened. She kept her penguin in a death grip, and kept glancing towards the basement door, sure Ambrose was going to come up the stairs any minute and snatch it out of her hands.

                And when she finished, and she buried her head in her hands, her mother gave her three pats on the back, and then said,

                “There, there, Marcy. No need to get yourself so worked up. I’m sure he was only joking.”

                And her brother laughed, and later he stole her penguin. That was okay, though. Whenever Marcia looked at it, all she could see was Ambrose sniffing it, getting his gross nose hairs up in the fur like an absolute creep.

                When Marcia was 16, she snuck away from home for good, and stayed on one of her friend’s mom’s couches the night before she’d play her first concert. One of the happiest moments in her life was when she got up to lock the bedroom door, and then realised she wasn’t in the same house as him. She didn’t have to worry about him anymore.

                If only she’d known.

 

* * *

 

                The truck. The fucking truck was going to undo them all. Ambrose needed answers, fast. Where the hell was Avalpur?

                He was on the basement floor, his palms cold against the stone floor. Chalk in hand, candle in his mouth, laptop by his knees as he drew the circle for the umpteenth time. Maybe he made a mistake. Maybe the candles weren’t in their exact places. Avalpur was a picky demon.

                The lines… just so. Just like that. And the candle – right there. Perfect. He picked another out of the box and crawled over to the next segment, pulling his laptop along. The cord was caught on his chair; Ambrose gave it a shake, then a tug, and watched it come loose.

                “Oh, for fuck’s-“ Ambrose heaved himself up. “Arghhhh.”

                He plugged it back in, and tossed the chair aside. It clattered on the basement steps.

                A voice from upstairs. “Dad?”

                “It’s fine! It’s fine.”

                “What was that noise?”

                “I said it’s fine!” He sat back down by the circle. “Nothing’s wrong! Nothing’s wrong. Just need to concentrate.”

                A pause. “What?”

                Ambrose shot up. “Are you fucking deaf? Shut up!”

                Isa went silent, and he settled down with a huff and a shake of the head. Medea was going to crucify him when she heard about that, but he honestly couldn’t care. He had bigger fish to fry.

                His laptop dinged. A new message appeared in his chat.

                Bigger fish. Like his follower, Junas.

 _I don’t know what I was thinking._ He wrote. _We were just in an argument and I said something about the truck. Cuz it was on the news. I didn’t think she’d take it seriously._

                Ambrose pinched his nose. He quickly typed in a response. _It doesn’t matter. Where is she?_

_She said she was in a hotel. She won’t say which._

                The replies came in rapid succession.

_I’m freaking out._

_She says she’s gonna call the police. They won’t take her seriously, right?_

_It’s just a truck._

_What do we do?_

                Ambrose let out a groan as the messages rolled in. This was supposed to be so damn simple. Follow Marcia to her party. Sneak her outside – she was passed out in a bedroom, so it was simple enough. Drive the truck to the forest, perform the sacrifice, leave no prints behind. It didn’t even matter if they got caught by a red light camera; they’d covered the license plate.

                It was all going so well until Junas decided to brag about it to his girlfriend. What an idiot. What a fucking moron.

 _I will ask Avalpur for guidance_. He typed back. _Avalpur will sort this out. Don’t talk to the police._

                Ambrose wanted to say more. _Burn your computer_ , he wanted to say. _Pretend you don’t know me, say you’re part of the Dreamer’s Star, don’t implicate me!_ But if he tried to distance himself too much, Junas might go to the police himself… Oh, this was bad. He might actually go to jail for this one.

                No. If there was any hope of salvaging the situation, Ambrose needed to know where the girlfriend was staying. He needed Avalpur.

                Junas was still firing off messages, but Ambrose pushed the laptop aside. He finished the last line of chalk, set the last candle in place… this was good. Better than good. It had to be the most perfect circle of Avalpur he’d ever drawn.

                Still, he checked it over one last time.

                “Dad?” Ambrose could hear his wife’s voice coming from upstairs. He ignored it as he fished out his lighter.

                “Dad?”

                “Not now!”

                “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Dad.”

                Ambrose jerked up. “Medea? What are you talking about? Why are you-“

                And then he stopped. Medea didn’t call him ‘Dad’.

                “I’m just saying,” Continued the voice, and his blood ran cold. It was unmistakably female, but it wasn’t Medea’s. “I wouldn’t light that candle if I were you.”

                He had his lighter up to the wick; slowly, he withdrew it. He crept back towards his desk, and picked up a short, gleaming knife. Then he walked up the stairs, hiding it behind his back.

                He pushed open the door and looked around. The kitchen was empty. Ambrose made a face, and then slipped into the hallway and opened Isa’s door.

                “Isa?” His son was jogging on a treadmill. His earphones were in. “Isa! Isa!”

                When that didn’t work, he reached forwards and ripped them out. “Isa!”

                “Hey! What the hell, Dad?”

                “You think you’re real funny, don’t you? Pulling this little prank?”

                “Prank?”

                “Yes!” He imitated the voice. “Oh, Dad, Dad! I wouldn’t do that if I were you!’ That was you, wasn’t it? I know it was you.”

                Isa rolled his eyes. “You’re crazy. Get out of my room.”

                "Don’t tell me what to do!” Ambrose grabbed his shirt. “You may be mommy’s little precious, but you don’t get to interfere with my work! You-“

                “Hey, get off me!” Isa shoved him, and he stumbled back out into the hall.

                Isa then slammed the door in his face. Ambrose banged on it furiously, and yelled his name, but he got no response. He slinked back, breathing hard, the knife gripped tightly in his hand.

                “I’m not in there, Dad.”

                The voice again! Ambrose jerked towards the source; it was coming from the bedroom at the very end of the hall. Marcia’s old bedroom. He frowned, and moved closer.

                The voice started humming. It was a slow melody, but he couldn’t recognize the song.

                The handle was within reach. Ambrose grasped it.

                He hesitated.

                And then he threw it open, rushing in. “Hey! Who’s in here! Who are-“

                Nobody was here. The room was as empty as the day Marcia left, the curtains drawn and cobwebs gathering in the corner. He frowned, and he looked behind the door. Nothing.

                When he turned back, however, somebody was there. A figure, crooning softly at the window as light streamed into the room.

                “ _Strange thin men and unlocked doors_ ,” She turned slowly, putting words to that sad melody. “ _Creeping down the hallway floors. If I had the chance again, if only I could sing again… I know what I’d say. Would you_?”

                Marcia smiled at Ambrose. Marcia, in the flesh, standing there, looking at him.

                 “That’s a new song I’ve been working on.” She said. Talking to him. “It’s a little rough, but what the hell. It’s not like I’m making albums anymore.” Her smile sharpened. “Isn’t that right, Dad?”

                “What the-? Marcia?” Ambrose struggled for words. “How did you- what are you doing here? I thought- you’re here? How?”

                She tutted. “You ask too many questions, little man.”

                Ambrose shook his head. He backed away, until he was up against the door. “No, no, you’re gone, you’re gone. You can’t be here!”

                “Yep, despite your best efforts, I’m still kicking. Isn’t that great?”

                “No. You’re not supposed to have a ghost! Avalpur, why didn’t he stop this?”

                “Stop what?”

                He looked up. Marcia’s smile was gone; now she looked genuinely confused.

                “Stop what?” When he didn’t reply. She moved in closer. “Come on, buddy. I’m literally dead. What was your demon guy supposed to be stopping?”

                His jaw clamped shut. Behind his back, he grasped his knife.

                "Hey? Hello? Earth to Dad? What are you-”

                He lunged forwards and stabbed her in the stomach. Her body was warm; blood stained her dress when he pulled out and scampered back. What the hell? Was she still alive?

                He watched Marcia blink, once, twice, and then look down at her stomach. Slowly, she moved her hand to cover it.

                “Wow,” She said in a quiet voice, like she was in a dream. “That’s… familiar.”

                Ambrose could hear his breathing. But he watched her, and she didn’t breathe. She was absolutely still.

                “Reminds me of what you did to me. What you did to me.” She looked up, and there was something different about her. Her eyes – they had gone terribly blank. “What you did to me…”

                Then she _moved_. Ambrose didn’t have a second to react before she launched herself at him, beating on him with her fists, kicking him with her whole leg, every part of her body attacking him. Somebody screamed – it was him screaming. He dropped the knife and curled in on himself.

                “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He covered his head. “Avalpur was supposed to eat your soul! So you couldn’t come back! I’m sorry, Avalpur! I don’t know what I did, but I’m so sorry! I deserve this, oh, god I deserve this!”

                The fury slowed. Every part of his body hurt – Ambrose had scratches all down his arm and on his scalp. He slowly removed his shaking hands and looked up.

                Marcia was facing away from him, one hand on her stomach. He started to sneak away, but then she spoke.

                “You’re disgusting. You know that?” She lowered her head. “I had a whole cool haunting thing planned for you, but I don’t even feel like doing that anymore. You really did just want to erase me, didn’t you? Wipe me out of existence, like I didn’t even matter. Like I was just a snack for your stupid demon.”

                She sniffed. In a shaky voice, she continued. “Well, I’m not. And I just wanted to forget about you. I wanted to forget all of you, but you had to come back into my life and ruin everything like you always do; well now you can’t anymore, because I’m dead. I’m dead and soon I’ll be gone, just like you wanted. I hope you rot in prison for that.” She flicked her hand. “Just go back to your basement. Get out of my room.”

                Ambrose hesitated a second more, and then he picked up his knife and bolted out of the room. He ran down the halls as fast as he could, and he didn’t stop until he was safely past the kitchen, the basement door locked and latched behind him. He backed away.

                Avalpur. Avalpur could fix this. Ambrose fumbled for his lighter, and held the flame to the first candle-

                Wait. What was wrong with the chalk?

                He stepped back, and looked at it. The chalk lines had been completely rearranged. In the centre of the circle, Avalpur’s symbol was gone. In its place was Alcor the Dreambender’s.

                “Oh, shit.” He breathed. Quickly, he rubbed out the symbol and started drawing again.

                Avalpur. Avalpur.

                His laptop beeped. He ignored it.

                Avalpur could fix this. Please, let Avalpur fix this.


	5. Chapter 5

“One small step for a man, one giant step for mankind!”

“It’s just ‘man’.”

“What?”

“The quote goes, ‘one small step for man, one giant step for mankind’. There’s no ‘a’ in it.” Alcor blinked. “And I just heard how petty I sound.”

Marcia snickered. “You nerd. C’mon, loosen up!” She pushed off. “We’re on the Moooooooon!”

                She floated across the pale cratery surface, giggling like a kid on Smile Dip. She landed and bounced, kicking up dust as she went. Alcor smiled. Yep. He took her to the Moon.

(It was more of a spur of the moment thing than something he planned, but it wasn’t like you needed a travel plan to have fun at the Moon. It’s the Moon.)

“I take it you’re enjoying yourself?”

“Woohoo! Best idea ever!” Marcia floated past him. “Dude, you can just blip here whenever you want? Why aren’t you here all the time!”

He took his legs off the ground and sat back in the air. “Floating gets a little old for me.”

“No way! I’d never get tired of-“ She smacked her face into a crater. “of this! Have you got a flag? Let’s confuse the hell out of everyone back on Earth!”

“What would you put on it?”

“I don’t even know, man!” Marcia paused, and snapped her fingers. “Aliens.”

Alcor reached behind his shoulder and drew out a tall pole with a green alien flag on the end. The fabric fluttered oddly in the low gravity, like it was underwater. “Go nuts.”

With a cackle, she took it and moonwalked off. He watched her go with a smile, and then stretched out, looking up at the stars. If he craned his head back, he could see Earth sitting just above the horizon. It was so quiet out here. So very peaceful.

                He closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

                Poke.

                “Hey, Alcor.”

                Poke. Alcor frowned as a finger squashed his nose. He cracked open an eye and glared at the figure hanging above his face.

                “Hey, sleepyhead.” Marcia grinned at him and poked his face again. “Wake up.”

                Alcor shook his head. “Just a few more minutes.”

“Come on, dude, do you even need to sleep?”

“No, but I like doing it.”

“Well can you do it later? You’re never gonna believe this but I’m getting kind of bored out here. Don’t say you told me so!”

“Hmm. Well, that’s your words, not mine.” He stretched. “Alright, where do you-“

Poke. This time it was right below his ribcage; he jumped and jerked his arms down, suddenly wide awake.

                “Hey, hey, I was getting up!”

                Marcia giggled. “Are you ticklish?”

                “No!” Alcor slapped her arms away. “Just a little sensitive. Stop, I’m not ticklish.”

“Oh, that’s what they all say!”

“Yeah yeah, very funny. Now where- stop, seriously.”

“Sounds like somebody woke up on the wrong side of the Moon!”

He hugged his arms around his sides. “Where do you want to go?”

Marcia paused, a smile froze on her face. “Uhhh… I dunno!”

                “Back to Hollywood?”

                “I don’t know.”

                “Back to the island, maybe?”

                “The island? No. Absolutely not.” Her expression soured. “Can you stop suggesting things and just give me a second? Jeez.”

“Okay.”

                He watched her think for a moment. Her eyes slowly trailed back to his, and her frown deepened. “What?”

                “I’m just waiting for your answer.”

                “Dude, you’re- I can’t think when you’re just staring at me.” She huffed and turned around. “You’re just… I don’t know. Just give me a second.”

                Alcor looked down for a long second. There was the pale, grey, dusty moon, and the long shadows every speck of dirt, every bump, every crater cast. He examined them all. It was absolutely silent out here. So very tense, for one long second.

                “Well… I don’t know.” Marcia finally spoke. “Let’s just go back to Hollywood. I don’t care.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Ooh, ‘if that’s what I want’, huh? What kind of cryptic fucking statement…” She heaved a great sigh. “Whatever. Can we go already?”

Alcor nodded. “We’re going now.”  
                With a snap of his fingers, they left the Moon. Now they were just behind the gas station, the cold air of Earth’s atmosphere brushing past his face and ruffling his coattails. The burned scraps that hung off Marcia, on the other hand, remained stubbornly still. She crossed her arms.

“Hey,” He tried for a smile. “Remember when you went in there and pranked the cashier?”

                “Yeah, that was good, wasn’t it?” She floated forwards, and then paused. “Right. I need a meatsuit again. Give me one of those.”

“Okay, I’ll-“

“Please. Give me one, please.” Marcia snorted. “Manners. I have them sometimes, I promise. Dude, were you really just gonna be okay with ‘give me one’? I’m not that much of an asshole, am I?”

Alcor shrugged. “It’s okay. I know not to take it personally.”

“Take it personally? Take what personally?”

“Uh…” He blinked. “Nevermind.”

She stood in front of him, now looking genuinely hurt. “Take me personally? Is that really how you think of me?”

“No, no!” Alcor shook his head. “Not at all. Look, you’re awesome, but… you don’t have to worry about it.”

“Alcor.”

“Look, you know, you’re a ghost, and ghosts tend to get a bit… single minded… after a time. It’s not your fault.” He watched her face carefully. “How are you feeling?”

Marcia stared up at him. He could feel her aura flickering, see her lips part, and then stay there, wordless. Then, she looked away.

“Kind of…” She started. “Kind of angry, if I’m gonna be honest.”

“That’s understandable.”

“No, it’s-! No, it’s not. Look, I never used to get angry like this before, you know?” She clenched her fists. “I mean I got angry, but – like when I, when I attacked Ambrose? I never did that sort of thing before! It was like, it wasn’t even me doing it; all I could think about was just… what they did to me.” Marcia paused, there. “What they did to me…”

 “Marcia.”

She looked up. Her eyes - they were so terribly blank, so utterly devoid of the person behind them.

Alcor cleared his throat. “Do you still want a meatsuit?”

Marcia blinked. A little shine came back to her. “Huh? Oh, yes. Yes, please.”

He reached out. Flesh knit itself together under his palm, muscle and bone wrapped itself in that flesh, and he touched her warm shoulder. Looked down at her, at the goosebumps now forming on her skin, the flapping of her clothes against the breeze, and her cloudy breath as it was carried away by the wind.

And her eyes. Bright, and shining, and alive, and so very scared.

                “Thank you,” She said. “Thank you for everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do. I don’t know how I’d cope with all this if you weren’t here. You’ve done so much for me, and I…” Marcia’s breath hitched. “D-don’t let me forget that, okay? You promise?”

Alcor drew her close. His chin fit just over her head, and he rested it there, looking off into the night. Marcia gripped his suit, buried her face into his chest, and just cried. Her shoulders shook from the emotion or the cold – maybe from both.

He held her. He let her cry. And when the little noises faded out and she stepped back, he let her go.

Marcia ducked her head, trying to hide her blotchy face. She tried a smile. “Y-yeah. Cool. I-I didn’t really used to do that, either.” She laughed, and wiped her cheek. “Sorry, man. I got your snazzy suit all wet. Gross.”

“That’s okay.” He got rid of the mark with a snap. “See? No problem.”

“Man, I wish I could do that. I was at a wedding once – spilled wine all over my buddy’s mother. Bit of demon magic could’ve saved my ass, I’ll tell you.”

They both chuckled for a little. Mattie started walking towards the street.

“Let’s hit the town, huh? Instead of hanging out behind a gas station like a pair of weirdos.”

“I’ll follow your lead.”

She gave him a strange sort of smile at that.

 

* * *

 

_This just in: a mysterious flag has been spotted on the Moon. Green in colour, scientists say it depicts the stereotypical image of alien’s face. Why is it here? Is this truly the first sign of extraterrestrial life? More on this, and the ongoing Marcia Sinderson investigation, after the break._

“Pfffffffhahahahaha!” Marcia cackled away at the counter of a bar. “This is amazing! Yes. I love it.”

Alcor grinned. “Honestly, I’ve done this sort of thing before. It’s priceless every time.”

“Now I’m in two news stories! I’m double famous.”

“Hah. I guess you are.”

They sat there for a little while, listening to the music coming off the speakers behind them. Marcia had a glass of wine (“No hangovers? You bet I’m getting drunk!”) which she took sips from as she moved her shoulders to the beat.

It was funny how she did that whenever she heard a song; she couldn’t seem to help but dance, no matter what mood she was in. She started to frown, but Alcor could see her still tapping her nails against the wood.

“You alright there?” He asked. She glanced over.

“Hmm? I’m okay.” She hesitated, and then sat back. Tap, tap-tap tap, she went, on the edge of the counter. “Hey, uh, I was wondering about something.”

“What is it?”

“It’s about…” Marcia sighed. “My stepfather. He said something weird, and it’s kinda been eating at me. I mean, he’s nuts, so he was saying something about Avalpur… eating my soul?”

“Ah, yes. Avalpur.”

“You know him?”

“Not really. There’s a lot of demons in the Mindscape; I can’t keep track of every little guy who wants to go messing around with humans.”

“Little guy?”

“Yeah.” Alcor shook his head. “It was nothing. Just a minor knowledge demon; some omniscience, but nothing beyond that.”

Marcia snorted. “He didn’t even dedicate himself to a powerful one. That’s amazing.”

“He most certainly did not.”

“So, what was that with the whole ‘soul eating’ thing?”

Alcor looked away. “It’s despicable, that’s what it is. It’s… uh, part of why I really wanted to help you.”

“Why?”

“Because your stepfather knew you’d come back as a ghost, so he tried sacrificing your soul so you couldn’t get revenge.” He scowled. “I’ve seen it before. People have tried sacrificing them to me – it didn’t end well for them, believe me.”

Marcia said nothing. After a moment, Alcor continued.

“But you’ve got Mizar’s soul. Avalpur wasn’t stupid enough to touch you. But still, I was…” He gripped the wood. “upset, when I felt you die. I chased them to the ends of the Mindscape, and I ripped them into more pieces than there are stars in the sky. You’re safe from them.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marcia shuffle back a bit. She laughed nervously.

“Jesus, Alcor.”

“But, yeah, if they had eaten you…” Alcor stared at the counter. “Well. It takes a long time for a soul to put itself together after that. Hundreds of years of pain and suffering, all because your family tried to escape the consequences of their actions. Honestly, they’re lucky Avalpur didn’t dare take you. The things I’d have done to them by now… They’re lucky, is all I’m saying.”

Marcia drew in a breath. She wasn’t tapping anymore. “Well, shit. Glad that didn’t happen.”

He nodded, opened his mouth, and then shut it and nodded again. The music on the speakers faded out, and a different tune began to play.

Ta-tap, ta-tap. Tap tap. Ta-tap, ta-tap. Tap. Marcia sipped her glass of wine, and looked up at the TV.

_With a nationwide manhunt for Marcia’s killers still ongoing, the New Hollywood has banded together around their favourite singer. A concert in her memory is being planned on her birthday next year, and the list of musicians signed up to perform already contains some impressive names._

Marcia sat up.

_Henrietta Rockit, lead vocalist of ‘Drummers and Sinners’ and organiser of the event, released a statement this evening concerning it._

_She says, “Marcia Sinderson was a bright and talented young lady who, in the short time I knew her, became a close friend of mine. Her death has deeply affected me, but I believe Marcia would not want us to dwell on her tragic end, but celebrate the remarkable life she led, and the profound and lasting impact she had on us all.”_

Alcor looked over. He saw Marcia’s stricken expression, and he leaned over.

“Did you know her?”

Marcia nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, Henri was cool.” She cracked a smile. “And also she does _not_ sound like that; someone else definitely wrote that statement. You wouldn’t catch her dead talking about ‘the profound and remarkable impact’ someone had on her life. Hah!”

He chuckled.

“She’s more an action person. I’m excited to see what she does for the concert!”

“Wait, you want to attend?”

“Hell yeah. Dude, can you imagine if I sang? At my own memorial concert! I’d blow some minds for sure.”

“Uh…” Alcor hesitated. “Marcia, it’s a year away.”

She looked over at him. Frowned.

“I mean, Marcia, that would be cool, but – how do I put this gently?”

“I’m not gonna be here in a year?” She raised her eyebrows. “Come on. I bet I can hold on. This concert’s gonna be worth it.”

“I mean, you can hold on as long as you want; that doesn’t mean you should.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve done a lot of things I shouldn’t do. What’s one more?”

“It’s different. Your soul-“

Marcia pawed at her wine glass. It knocked over and went all over her clothes before shattering on the floor. She blinked. “Oops.”

“You’re falling out of that meatsuit, too.” He stood up and offered a hand. “Come on. I’ll help you.”

She stared at him for a second. He tried to pull her to her feet, but the body came tumbling out of the bar stool and onto him.

“Whoo!” Someone shouted from the other side of the room. “That little lady’s had a few too many!”

“Sorry!” Alcor called back. “I’ll clean this up; just gotta take her to the bathroom!”

He picked the body up and shot a glance at Marcia, who was still glaring at him from the bar stool.

“I’m going to the concert.” She said. He sighed.

“Okay, if that’s what you want. Just give me a second-“

“And I want to go back to the island.” Marcia began to grin. It was much more unpleasant than her usual smiles. “You told me about Avalpur, and it makes sense now. After what they did to me… I’m the consequence. I can’t just stop at Ambrose; I have to finish it.”

Alcor stared at her for a long moment. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

“Oh, definitely. You’ve got to take me there.” A long pause. “Please.”

“Alright.” He hefted the body. “Just give me one second.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note for violence.

Marcia had a brother. Isa was born soon – very soon - after her father died, and she remembered staring into his crib, feeling so happy that her tattered little family was stitching itself back together. Looking at him with his chubby cheeks and his stocky arms waving about, she thought about her dad, and how people she loved could just die at any minute. She’d lean in closer.

“Don’t worry,” She’d whisper to him. “I’m your big sister. I’m gonna keep you safe. Always. I love you.”

On and on, until her mother would shoo her out of the room. As he got older, she ‘d try and share her toys with him.

“He doesn’t want your dolls.” Her mother would say.

She tried to sing to him, share with him all her favourite songs.

“You’re bothering him.” Her mother would say.

She tried standing in her mother’s bedroom, watching her put him to sleep.

“He doesn’t want you here.” Her mother would say. “Go away.”

That hurt, but what hurt more was when Isa started talking. “Go’way,” He’d say, and give her a little toddler shove.

And her mother would laugh. “You tell her, Isa. Wow, you’re getting so strong!”

As he got older, Marcia got taken out of singing classes. Isa got signed up for the football team, and many a time did she sit on the bleachers and watch him run across the field and boss his team around, and laugh at the other side if they lost.

He didn’t make a lot of friends. Marcia felt a little bad for him.

“Hey,” She said one day, when the other team won and he skulked off the field, alone. “I thought you played really well.”

He shoved her into the railing and went to see his mother, who was arguing with the ref. The way she just held him when he leaned into her for a hug, and stroked his shoulder… Marcia went to go sit in the car.

That was how it was with Isa for a long time. They had nothing in common, and when he wasn’t outright ignoring her he was stealing her songbooks or cutting the bottom off of her school bag. Okay, Marcia would think, message received. She left him alone.

When Marcia was around fifteen-sixteen, and her brother was twelve, she remembered coming home from school a little early. She was sick, and it sucked, and she just wanted to go to sleep.

As Marcia fumbled with her keys, she noticed a sort of noise coming from the house. She opened it carefully, and that was when she heard singing. Music being played at full blast. That voice… was that Isa?

She couldn’t help herself. With a mile-wide grin on her face Marcia darted over to his room and threw open the door. There he was, sitting on the computer, belting out that newest single that had been playing on the radio all summer long.

“Oh, my, god.” She said, and Isa jumped a mile high. He jabbed the mute button on his computer and whirled around to face her, shock flashing to white hot anger.

“What the fuck, Marcy? What are you doing in my room? Get the fuck out!”

“I never knew you could sing!”

“I’m not singing!”

“So what would you call that? Like, uh, humming, with words… no, that’s definitely singing, dude.” She grinned as his face reddened. “Good singing, too! I liked it.”

“I’m not singing! That stuff’s for girls.”

“You serious? You know how many male musicians there are out there? Like, off the top of my head there’s-“

“I don’t care! I don’t wanna be a stupid musician, okay? Not like you.” Isa’s lip curled. “You’re never gonna make it, you know. Mom says you need to be more realistic.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Says the kid who wants to go pro even though he got kicked off the team.”

“Well- Mom says- It’s not… get out of my room!”

“Look, dude, I’m not trying to embarrass you. I think it’s cool!” Marcia leaned in. “Next year when you go to high school, you should totally hit up Miss Kindle. She’s my drama teacher, but she lets me practice in her classroom. And she does musicals too – you should sign up!”

Isa glowered at her. “That sounds stupid. Why are you telling me all this? I don’t care.”

“Look, take it or leave it, dude. I just want to help you.”

“Well, I don’t want your help! You’re just a failure, and you’re trying to drag me down with you!” He stepped right up into her face. He was a tall kid, a little taller than her. “Get the fuck out of my room, Marcia!”

“Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do, tough guy, hit me?”

He hit her. Right in the jaw, and then the back of her skull cracked against the doorway. The next thing she knew, she was lying on her bed with a killer headache and somebody slapping her cheek.

“Hey, don’t go to sleep. Don’t go to sleep.”

“Mmmph.” She sat up and rubbed her jaw. “What the hell… Oh, mistake. Sitting up was a  mistake. I’m gonna be sick.”

“Don’t throw up on me!”

“No… I’m good. I can hold it. Wait… no, I’m good. I think I’m good.” Marcia shot him a look. “Oh, but if I do throw up, I’m aiming for your lap. What the hell, Isa?”

Isa ducked his head. “Sorry,” He mumbled, almost with sincerity. “But it wasn’t my fault; you were being annoying. You’re always trying to push me into doing stuff. You’re just trying to push yourself into my life, and I hate it.”

“Well, I’m your sister. I want to know what’s going on with you, you know?” She made a face. “I’m not trying to be annoying. I was just happy we had something in common for once.”

He just stood there for a moment, staring down at her. “Don’t tell Mom I was singing.” He turned away. “I’ll get you some ice.”

Isa walked away, and Marcia rubbed her jaw again. “Asshole. Isa, you’re a-! Ow. Oh, fuck, that hurts.”

She had a nice shiner on her face before the day was out. Her mother asked her what happened, and she said she slipped - she’d just get in trouble if she tried pinning it on Isa. She wasn’t allowed to go to school until the bruise got better, so she sat at home with an ice pack and a bottle of ibuprofen looking at concert venues.

There was an ‘up and coming singers’ night at a bar down in Las Vegas.

Huh, Marcia remembered thinking. That could be interesting.

Years passed, and Marcia sometimes thought about her brother after she made it big. He’d be about the same age she was when she ran away.

She wondered how his sports career was going. If he’d made any friends in high school. If he thought about her. If he missed her. If he regretted anything.

She remembered the way he’d apologized after he’d hit her; it was small, but it was something. She remembered how he got her an ice pack, and he made a strange little joke about how he gave somebody a concussion back in elementary school.

She remembered all the way back to when he was a baby, and the promises she’d made to him. You know, he probably wasn’t a bad person. He was a victim of their awful parents just as much as she was, and maybe… maybe she could still try and reach out to him, her brother, one last time.

Marcia called his old cell phone number. It went to voicemail. “Leave a message after the beep,” it said, and she took a deep breath.

 _Beep_.

“Hey. Isa. It’s me. Marcia.” She gave a little chuckle. “Surprise! You, uh, probably didn’t expect to hear from me, huh? After all this time. I hope this is still your number, I don’t know how else to reach you, but, uh- Look. I know we had a bit of a… rocky relationship, when we were kids, but I know you’re turning seventeen soon. Happy birthday, by the way. Mine’s coming up too, big… big two-one. Haha! Yeah…”

She hesitated. Gripped the phone a little tighter. “Listen, you’re probably still in that house, aren’t you. I know you always had big plans. You don’t want to stay in that sleepy little town all your life. So, if there’s any, um, any way I can help with that, help you… I just wanted to let you know I’m here. That’s all. I hope you’re doing good.”

She hung up, and went about her day with a strange, anxious optimism in her chest that was hard to ignore. He didn’t have to call back, she told herself. If he didn’t want her pushing into his life again, that was fine.

But maybe, just maybe, he might.

…

He didn’t.

Two weeks after Marcia called, Isa, her mother, Ambrose and four men in black robes stole her away from a party, dragged her into the woods and set her on fire. She was drunk, she couldn’t remember exactly what happened, but she had a vivid memory of Isa’s thick hand on her shoulder, gripping tight as she struggled.

And finally, Marcia saw him for what he was: a spoiled, complicit brat who never faced consequences for a single thing he did in his miserable life.

That was about to change. Now, she was the consequence.

 

* * *

 

                Up, up above the desert, up above the oceans and the rugged clifftops of the Las Vegas Penninsula, was the Sky Tram. Rend had one of those older versions that still used steel cables, and on a rainy day like this the lines seemed to disappear into the clouds. Tiny cable cars chugged along them, swaying in the wind and making any tourist with the slightest fear of heights seriously regret their decision to visit a floating island.

                (‘Don’t worry,’ They’d tell you, ‘There have been no recorded instances of a Sky Tram cabin decoupling from the line and plunging into the ocean from such a height you can probably fit in a goodbye call to one of your loved ones before you hit the water and turn into such a sad slop of human remains no mortician in the world could give your grieving widow an open casket funeral. What? Why are you looking at us like that? We just told you it’s safe!’)

                The locals, on the other hand, were rarely fazed by it. Isa took the twenty minute journey three days a week to get to his job, so that afternoon had been business as usual.

He slouched in the seat, headphones jammed over his ears and a characteristic glare creasing his features. He was just a little too tall for the headrest, so he hugged his backpack to his chest and rested his chin on that. One of his fingers tapped out a rhythm on his arm.

                The cabin swayed a little in the wind. Isa swayed with it, staring out at the grey ocean below.

                “New headphones?”

                “Huh?” Isa looked up, and saw some guy sitting across from him. He wore a purple shirt and a wide smile.

                “You got new headphones? I can hear’em from over here.”

                “Oh. My bad.” Isa turned them down, and then paused. “I did just get these headphones. How did you…?”

                The man pointed at his ear. “Price tag.”

                Isa looked, and yes, there was still a sticker on one of the speakers.

                “Oh. Yeah, I just got them. My old ones broke.”

                “That sucks.”

                “Heh, yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “It broke super weirdly too – it was like there was someone singing in the background of everything. I think one of the magics at my school cursed it or something. They all hate me.”

                The man raised his eyebrows in a strangely familiar way. “Really. Who could possibly hate you?”

                “And then the bitch on the customer service line wouldn’t give me a refund, even though I _just bought those_ too! Ugh. Well, these ones are enchantment-proof, so at least that can’t happen again.”

                “You've got such a tough life, Isa.”

                Isa opened his mouth, but then he realised he was still wearing his nametag from work.

                “You know, somebody played a prank like that with me once. I bet I could get your old ones working again.”

                “Really?”

                “Yeah. You got them on you still?”

                Isa fished them out of his backpack.

                “Hand’em over. I’ll show you.” When the man saw Isa hesitate, he smiled. “Or don’t. No pressure, y’know?”

                “Uh, alright.”

                Isa leaned over and handed it to the man, and watched him straighten them out. The man pressed his thumb against the jack, then folded it up and tossed it back.

                “Try ‘em now.”

                Isa plugged them in, and sure enough, they worked perfectly. “Huh. Thanks.”

                “No problemo. That’ll be fifty bucks.” The man snorted at Isa’s expression. “Kidding! Don’t worry about it, Ise.”

                Isa chuckled a little, too. “You got me going there for a second. I was like, ‘I’m not paying for that shit!”

                The two of them laughed, and the cabin swayed. The man’s laugh died off first, and he just looked at Isa for a long moment. Isa cleared his throat.

                “So… uh… I haven’t seen you around. Are you a tourist, or…?”

                “Not a tourist, per se.” The man smiled. “I’m just visiting family.”

                “Oh. Heh. Yeah, we don’t get many tourists.”

                “What? Why not?” They were passing through the clouds. The man pointed at the grey. “You guy’s’ve got such a lovely view!”

                Isa snickered. “You’re here on the wrong day, man!”

                “It seems so! Seems so…” The man sighed. “Yeah. You know, I also came because… you know Marcia Sinderson?”

                Marcia. Sinderson. Isa froze.

                “She was from this town, wasn’t she?” He shook his head. “Man. Tragedy what happened to her.”

                “Uh-“

                “Don’t you think so? Did you hear about it?”

                “I- uh- I don’t-“ Isa clenched his fists. Tried to steady his breathing. “I… she’s… yeah. I heard about that.”

                “What do you think about it? I mean, you’re such a music fan, aren’t you?”

                “I- no, I didn’t listen to her. It was kind of girly, you know? Mainstream.”

                “Oh.” The man’s eyes twinkled. “You think she deserved it?”

                “What? I don't-“ Isa finally looked him in the eye again. “I don't know what you're talking about, a-and for the record, I was actually her brother. How dare you say something like that?”

                “You were her brother, huh.”

                “I was! Yes!”

                “Did you love her?”

                “What the… what the fuck kind of a questions are these?” He stood up and stabbed a finger at the man. “What the hell’s wrong with you? I was her brother!”

                “So why’d you kill her, then?”

                The words hit Isa like a gunshot. He staggered back, eyes wide, heart pounding in his chest. The cabin swaying under his feet suddenly felt twice as unsteady, like at any minute it might decouple and plunge through the clouds. He grabbed the seat.

                “N-no I didn’t!”

                The man just stared at Isa, just the hint of a smile creasing his lips.

                Isa shook his head. “I didn’t kill her! I didn’t! You can’t- you can’t prove anything!”

                “My, that's a strange thing to say when somebody says you murdered your sister.”

                “Who the _fuck_ are you?” He watched the man stand up. “Who the f… who the fuck…”

                The man stretched for one long moment, spreading his arms from door to door of the cabin. “Well,” He said. “This was fun. You know, seeing how things might’ve been… it makes me a little sad to go. But my stop’s coming up. And we’ve all got to get off sometime, huh?”

                The floating island appeared out of the grey. The cables brought them closer, closer.

                The man just smiled at Isa, that strange smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “You're asking me to prove it? I don’t have to prove anything. I was there. I felt your hand on my shoulder, Isa. And that still… that still sticks with me. Out of everything that happened that night, that’s what I remember. I think I know why.”

                 “I think it’s because… I thought you were better than that, you know? Ambrose was nuts, and Mom was… Mom, but you? I don’t know. I thought if I could just try harder, if I could just let you see that all I ever wanted to do was help you…” The man sighed, and shook his head. “I don’t know. Well, it’s all over now, isn’t it. I’ll leave you alone from now on. That’s all you wanted, right?”

                Isa’s eyes bulged. His chin trembled. “M-Marcia...” He kept shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I'm sorry, okay? Just after the call, Mom blew up and- I was just trying to- I-it wasn’t my fault, I swear-“

                “I don’t want to hear it. We both know what you did to me.”

                “No, I swear it wasn’t my… I was just-“

                “Looks like my stop’s coming up.” Marcia watched as they pulled into the station. “Bye, Isa.”

                And she dissolved into shadow.

Isa stood there, trembling. The doors opened, and he jumped. He gripped his backpack, and he darted out of the cabin. The solid ground still felt unsteady, unsafe. He stumbled away, and ran.

Down the path. Past the trees, sticking their branches in his face. Past the houses, full of eyes, watching him. Back home.

                He burst through the door. “Mom! Mom!”

                Mrs Sinderson sat in the living room, a photo album sitting on her lap. “Isa? Don’t slam the door like that.”

                “Bad. Bad. Marcia, she-“

                She shook her head. “Please. Don’t say her name, dear.”

                “But she’s back! I saw her! She-“

                “You can’t have seen her, Isa. She’s dead.” Mrs Sinderson hitched a sob. “My Marcy.”

                “No, you don’t understand! I literally saw-“

                “I don’t want to hear this.” She reached out for his face. “Be a good boy and go to your room, okay?”

                “No, Mom, I really-“

                Mrs Sinderson grasped his cheek with cold fingers. She smiled with all her teeth. “I love it when you do what I say.”

                “Mom, I…” Isa cringed as her smile widened. “Uh… okay. I’ll be… I’ll be in my room. But she’s-“

                “Ah, ah, ah. Everything is fine, dear. You really do wind yourself up sometimes.”


	7. Chapter 7

                “Island Federation Police! Open up!”

                A helicopter hovering above the house. A team of officers gathered around the door. Three hard knocks on the wood.

                “This is the Island Federation Police! Open up right this instant or we’re breaking the door down!”

                Silence from the house. The officer shuffled his feet to knock again, but then the radio crackled. “He’s running out the back! Go go go!”

                 A group split from the rest and charged through the back gate. Shouts. Yells. The roar of the chopper, the rustle of bushes.

                “Hey, hey! Don’t touch me! Argh!” Cuffed and pushed along by two officers, Ambrose came stumbling through the gate. “This is ridiculous. What are you arresting me for? I didn’t do anything!”

                “Sir, this way-“

                “My arm! If I get so much as a bruise, I’m suing the lot of you! Hey, you!” He lunged towards an officer leaning against his red car. “Get your grimy elbows off my hood! It’s worth more than you can afford to pay!”

                They led him towards the helicopter, and the team got the front door open. Neighbors were out on their lawns, watching with wide eyes as Isa and his mother were brought out onto the lawn. Mrs Sinderson was sobbing into Isa’s arms, while he looked on with a special horror in his face. The police, the helicopter landing on the street, Ambrose still screaming away as he was put in the back - his very world was ending, and you could see the nightmare playing out in his eyes.

                Alcor… call him callous, but he was enjoying the show.

                “You know, sometimes I love the human justice system.” He turned to grin at Marcia with too many teeth. “Goes a bit too slow for me, but when it works, man, it’s way better than just straight-out killing them.”

                Marcia kept staring straight ahead. His grin dropped.

                “Hey, Marcia? You okay?”

                She had that expression again, that blankness that set off all kinds of alarms for Alcor. He started to reach out, but he thought better of it.

                “Marcia. Marcia. Marcia!”

                Marcia looked over at him.

                “Hey, when this is done, do you wanna get out of here for a bit?” He tried for another smile. “I’ve been looking up places in New Hollywood and there’s an icecream-“

                She turned back to the house.

                “…place.” He tapped her arm. “Marcia.”

                “ _What_!”

                Her voice echoed in a way a human’s wouldn’t. Alcor cringed.

                “You should take a break from this, Marcia. It’s messing with you.”

                She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Stop spoiling the moment.”

                “Okay. But after this is over, maybe we could-“

                “Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

                “I didn’t tell you-“

                She shoved him. “Just shut up, will you! You’re getting in my way.”

                Alcor backed off, but she kept glaring at him.

                “You’re just that kind of person, you know? You get in everyone’s way, you make everyone’s lives worse just by being there. What is even the point of you?”

                His eyes widened, his shoulders raised and his mouth opened for a retort… but just as quickly, his surprised expression turned sad, and he just drooped. He looked away, and Marcia did too.

                “At least I know the point of me.” She said with an eerie calmness. “I’m the consequence.”

                They watched the morning go by. They watched Mrs Sinderson give a tearful statement to the police, her hands wrapped like a vine around Isa’s arm while he stared down at the floor. They watched officers walk in and out of the house, past the battered-down door, carrying old dusty boxes marked ‘SAC CHCK’ and ‘SUMNG CHLK’ and ‘LMB BONE’. They watched the first few members of the press make their way down the street, cameras rolling for the juiciest twist yet in the Sinderson story.

                They watched Isa hide his face, Mrs Sinderson turn and stare, unblinking as the cameras flashed and silent in the face of so many questions. And when it was all over, when the police had finished searching and helicopter took off with Ambrose, she walked back inside, with Isa trailing behind her.

                Marcia started to follow.

                “Hey.” Alcor cleared his throat. “Remember what I was saying?”

                She kept going. He sighed, and stepped forwards to catch her shoulder. The instant he touched her, she whirled around and launched herself at him.

                It was like being attacked by a shadow. Marcia lost her form entirely ; she whirled around Alcor in a thrumming knot of fury, striking at him from every direction. He was caught off guard – he stumbled back before steeling himself.

                He took a deep breath.

                He reached out, and took her arm.

                “Marcia.” He said. The shadow pulled back. Only her wrist had any sort of human shape; the rest was a seething, ashen mass. Alcor looked at it, looked at her, and tried to keep his voice steady. “Marcia. It’s me, Alcor. I want you to think about why you’re angry at Alcor.”

                He listened closely for the answer, an echoing cry behind the buzzing and shrieking and struggling. “ _What you did you did to me! It’s what you did to me! It’s what you did to me!_ ”

                “Marcia, listen. What did Alcor do to you?”

                “ _It’s what you did to me! It’s what you did… What you did…_ ”

                “Marcia. Listen.” He squeezed her wrist, and the shadow slowed. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

                The shadow settled down, and took shape again. Marcia looked like she was falling apart; little particles were flaking off her skin and hanging in the air around her. Her feet, floating off the ground, were still quite dissolved.

Regardless, Alcor couldn’t help a relieved smile from spreading across his face. “You’re back.” He felt her tug away from him, and let go of his wrist. “Do you understand why we need to take a break?”

                Marcia rubbed her wrist, and didn’t respond for a long moment. Finally, she looked up at him.

                “I’m not leaving the island.” She said, and there was an edge to it.

                “That’s fine. Look, why don’t we just take a walk?”

                “A walk.”

                “Just a little walk, and you can get back to what you’re doing.” Alcor tried for a smile. “Does that sound okay?”

                She stared at for a long moment. Then, she heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’ll follow you.”

                “Awesome!” He reached out like he wanted to touch her, but thought better of it. “Hey, we can even swing by your old school. It’ll be like… a walk down memory lane.”

He turned and walked away, and she floated behind him, leaving the house, the reporters, the trashed door, the red car, all of it behind.

For now.


	8. Chapter 8

                 “Come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here!  Fill me from the crown to the toe top-full… _of direst_ _cruelty_! Muahahaha! Ahahaha!”

                There came a giggle from the backstage. Out front, a woman stood, trying to contain her smile as the girl on stage started hamming it up.

                “Jen, love the enthusiasm, but this is supposed to be a serious scene.”

                “Cmoooon, Kindle. That line is like, asking for an evil cackle.”  She spread her arms wide. “Hey guys, I’m Lady Macbeth, I’m evil and I’m ready to stab some fools! Unsex me!”

                That last line generated another round of giggles. Miss Kindle shook her head.

                “And I thought you guys were the mature class.”

                “I definitely never claimed that ever.”

                She snorted. “I’ll keep that in mind. Well, you guys know we’re doing ‘Much Ado About Nothing’ next semester. That’s a comedy, but for now-“

                “Ooh! Can I be Beatrice?”

                “They’ll certainly be tryouts, and-“

                “I’m definitely playing Beatrice.” Jen shot a grin backstage. “If anybody else shows up at tryouts, I will destroy you.”

                “Okay. Okay. Take it from the top, guys. Remember, this is a tragedy! If people are laughing, you’re doing it wrong.”

                They ran the scene again. Miss Kindle watched the stage carefully, her eyebrows raised and her eyes peeking out from the top of her glasses. Beside her, somebody else was watching her.

                Marcia floated next to her old teacher, staring at her face with an expression Alcor found hard to decipher. It wasn’t blank, though, so he was glad about that.

                “O, never shall sun that morrow see!” Onstage, Jen was speaking. “Your face, my thane, is as a book where men may read strange matters.”

                Her voice carried across the room, and Miss Kindle smiled. “Good. Good volume.”

                Marcia frowned, and looked up at the stage. Jen and a kid playing Macbeth stood up front. It wasn’t a dress rehearsal – they were wearing plain clothes – but by the way Jen was acting, she may as well have been Lady Macbeth herself. She circled around Macbeth, her long fingers creeping like spiders up his arm.

“To beguile the time, look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye.” She smiled with all her teeth, and she spoke with a cold menace. “Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it!”

                The stage lights shone down on her, and Miss Kindle nodded approvingly. Marcia stood in the darkness, and she looked at her old teacher again.

                She reached one grey arm out, and she grazed Miss Kindle’s shoulder. Her old teacher shivered as fingers passed through her skin, but nothing more. She kept staring up at Jen, the glare of the spotlight reflecting off her glasses.

“Good. That’s really good, Jennifer.”

Marcia drew back, clasping her hands to her chest. Her expression darkened, black anger simmered in her aura - Alcor stepped forwards, ready to intervene…

Then the bell rang. It startled Marcia, and she watched with wide eyes as the stage lights shut off. Alcor took a breath, and tried to unclench his muscles.

Up on stage, Jen let her arms fall. “Aww. I was really getting into it!”

                Miss Kindle chuckled. “I could tell. This was really good, guys! We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

                “Can’t I just stay here?” Jen bent her knees and hopped off stage. “I don’t want to go to math. Math suuuucks.”

                “Afraid you gotta go. Your teacher might not be happy if I kept you here.”

                “Darn.” She smiled. “Well, have a nice day.”

                “You too, Jennifer.” Miss Kindle leaned forwards. “You know, you really did do a good job today. I got chills. You do a performance like that on the night, I’ll be impressed.”

                Jen blushed, and tried to laugh it off. “You mean the evil laugh one, right?”

                “No, no, though that was funny, I’ll admit.” She put a hand on Jen’s shoulder. “You’re a talented little actress. Seeing you up there on the stage… you actually remind me of an old student of mine.”

                Marcia floated forwards, her head cocked to the side. She watched Miss Kindle’s smile fade a bit, watched her eyes dart down to the floor for a second. Then she nodded to herself and looked up again.

                “I think if you keep at it, you’ll go far. Really.” Miss Kindle patted Jen’s shoulder. “Now off you go. I don’t want you to be late.”

                Jen ducked her head, a beaming smile barely concealed on her face. “Thanks, Kindle.” She picked up her bag and paused at the door. “That’s… thanks.”

                Miss Kindle waved. When Jen was gone, she sighed and walked through Marcia to the first row of seating in the back. There she picked up her laptop as well as a stack of papers, and settled down with a frown of concentration.

                Marcia kept staring at her. Alcor hesitated, and then walked over.

                “It’ll be about five minutes until the next bell rings,” He said, checking his watch. “Do you want to talk to her?”

                She floated back, hugging herself with her arms.

                “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

                Marcia kept gazing forwards, just the slightest frown creasing her face. Up ahead, Miss Kindle sneezed once.

                “Bless you.” Said Marcia. She frowned a little harder, and then floated forwards and started pawing at the stack of papers next to her teacher. They rustled like a breeze was going through them.

                Frustration simmered in her aura, and Alcor stepped forwards. “Do you want a piece of paper?” He plucked a sheet out of thin air and handed it to her. “Try this one.”

                Marcia held it for a moment.

                “Oh, and a pen. Here you go.”

                Pen and paper in hand, Marcia finally took her eyes off Miss Kindle. She started to write. The pen scratched away, not pausing for a single second. Alcor tried to look at what she was writing, but she shot him a look and he backed off.

                Students slowly filtered into the room. After a few minutes, the bell rang. Marcia didn’t seem to notice Miss Kindle get up and address the class; she finished one page and turned around to the back, still writing furiously.

                Miss Kindle’s laptop was still open. Out of parts curiosity and boredom, Alcor wandered over to see what she was working on. Attendance notes were the first thing he saw – he minimized that, and behind it was a news article.

                ‘ _MARCY WAS MY BABY’ – MOTHER OF MURDERED ROCKSTAR SPEAKS OUT AFTER ACCUSATIONS_

                Alcor narrowed his eyes at the title. Suuure, ‘your baby’. The hypocrisy was nauseating.

                A rustle at his shoulder. Alcor suddenly realised he couldn’t hear the scratching of the pen anymore. Marcia was almost pressed up to his back, her eyes boring into the photo of her mother up on screen.

                She didn’t look angry. She didn’t look like anything at all. Alcor clicked away, but she stayed frozen, blank.

                “Hey Marcia.” He tried for a smile. “Looks like Miss Kindle is, uh, keeping tabs on you. Isn’t that nice?”

                Marcia didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then: “I’m going back to the house. I’m going back to her.”

                Her voice was absolutely flat. Alcor cringed. “Hey, don’t you want to-“

                “Don’t get in my way.”

                “But-“

                “ _DON’T GET IN MY WAY_!”

                Her voice was like a shockwave, knocking over papers and pushing the laptop to the floor, echoing against the walls and shaking the stage lights. Alcor stepped back, and watched her dissolve into the floor.

                Her pen dropped and clattered on the ground. A second later, her paper came to a rest beside it, covered in frenzied scribbles.

                “What on earth?” Alcor watched Miss Kindle sprint over to her laptop. She made a face when she picked it up. “Oh, for god’s sake…”

                “What’s wrong?” One of her students asked.

                She turned it around. “Screen’s broken. And all my papers went everywhere…”

                “We’ll pick them up!”

                “No, no, it’s my notes. I’ll deal with it.” She put the laptop back on the seat. “Later. Alright, where were we?”

                Alcor leaned down and picked up Marcia’s letter. He squinted at it.

                _Dear Miss Kindle_ , it started. So far, so good. _I think you’re a really great teacher and I was lucky to have you when I was in high school. Jen is lucky to have you too. I was watching you and it was really great to see you agan. i think you help a lot of people and i remember we did richard the third in my sophomore year and i got to play richerd even though i wasnt a boy and it was really grat i think youre awesome and im relly sorry i didnt see you until now and im sorry i cant talk to you but im scared it wont be the same i wont be the same and i wont doit justice i wish i saw you before idied because i don know what to say anymore but thanks for what you did to me what you did to me WHAT YOU DID TO ME-_

                He could hardly read it past that. On the back, she’d stopped midscrawl and left. He turned it back over, and sighed deeply.

“Marcia…”

                Miss Kindle’s laptop sat open on the chair. For just a moment, Alcor contemplated leaving the letter there, but then he drew his arm back. He made a face, he looked at the letter again, and then he breathed.

                He reached into space and pulled out a card. It had a little guitar on its front under the words, ‘THANK YOU’, and gold trim around the sides. He picked up the pen, and he sat back in the air, letting Marcia’s letter float next to him.

                He looked at Miss Kindle, who was busy directing a class of giggling freshmen on improv. She walked around, visiting each little pair, listening with a smile and talking with a soft, encouraging voice.

                He looked at Marcia’s letter again, and then down at the card.

                He began to write. He paused. He looked at the letter again. He wrote a little more, and then he frowned and erased it with a flick of his fingers. He looked up at Miss Kindle again.

                The hour passed by, and slowly, painstakingly, Alcor wrote the card. At the end, he signed, ‘Marcia’, and sealed it with a pretty pink envelope. He let the pen disappear, and picked up a CD. ‘Marcia Sinderson’s Greatest Hits’, it read. He covered it in starry golden wrapping paper.

                Then he leaned over, and placed it on Miss Kindle’s laptop. He touched his hand to the broken screen and wiped the cracks away. Then with a thought, he organised the scattered papers and placed them back on the chair.

                He picked up Marcia’s letter, and sighed. He folded it carefully, and placed it in the pocket of his suit, close to his heart. He glanced at the screen again, at the news story with Mrs Sinderson’s tearful face.

                Alcor curled his lip. He straightened his suit, and then he disappeared.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note for abuse.

Mrs Sinderson loved her Marcia. It might sound strange considering she murdered Marcia, but really, she loved her daughter with every bone in her body. Every night, she’d sit in the living room and pour over photos of her little Marcy, sobbing loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.

Where did she go wrong, Mrs Sinderson would lament. They had such a good relationship when she was young. Little 4 year old Marcy used to love hearing her sing – you know, Mrs Sinderson was trained in opera? She’d had such a promising career, too, until she met her first husband - and she was over the moon when her mommy signed her up for little singing lessons.

She had all the photos, there. Her pretty little Marcy all dressed up in pink, singing her heart out. She always looked cute in pink.

                Mrs Sinderson would go to every little concert, suffer through every disjointed rendition of ‘Frère Jacques’, just for her daughter. She didn’t have to do that, you know. And she’d smile and wave at Marcy, and she’d get to point her out to the parents next to her.

                “That’s my daughter. Up in front. She’s pretty good, isn’t she? Takes after her mommy – you know, I used to be in opera…”

                Marcia was pretty good, actually. Teachers mentioned how she had such a nice voice for her age, such a knack for performance. And the years went on and the pages kept turning, and soon, she was the lead role in every school play, the soloist in every song routine. She was good. Mrs Sinderson could hear the parents chatting about her before she even pointed out her daughter.

                It… grated on her, she had to admit. Marcy started talking about wanting to sing for a living, and Mrs Sinderson tried to nip it in the bud – she’d never make it, she told Marcy. She didn’t have the connections. She was too sensitive; she wouldn’t be able to deal with all that rejection. Wear that nice dress she picked out – that t-shirt made her look a bit round.

                But Marcia persisted. Oh, she persisted, even when Mrs Sinderson withdrew her from the acting club and cancelled her singing lessons. She practiced at one of her little friend’s houses for who knows how long – she only got wind of it once the mother started talking about how lovely she sounded when she sang. Mrs Sinderson shut that down, but by then…

                The teenage years rolled around.

                The dreaded teenage years. Mrs Sinderson would shake her head at the mess her beautiful little Marcy had become. She had been such a good kid, but now she was sneaking out at all hours, returning only to scream at her family like some kind of banshee. Totally uncontrollable. She just didn’t know where this was all coming from.

                Mrs Sinderson tried everything, but in the end, what could she do? It seemed Marcy just wanted to abandon her family and tear her mother apart, and nobody was going to stop her. An empty bed, a note on her pillow – it was the worst day of her life. Her little Marcy had escaped, and she’d never see her again.

                Well, until she started playing on the radio. She was famous? That’s… that can’t… no, it was definitely a fluke. Only because she did that poppy junk that was all the rage – she’d be a flash in the pan. You know, Mrs Sinderson had been in the music industry for years, but of course nobody played opera on the radio. She never made it big. She never had any connections. How come she wasn’t a famous singer? How come she was stuck here in the same stupid town she’d grown up in, while her daughter was off gallivanting across the globe?

                Mrs Sinderson would clench her fists at the thought of it. Marcy succeeded where she didn’t, Marcy achieved her dreams while she was left in the dust to keep the family together. It was an insult. It was an insult to her mother, and she just couldn’t let her get away with it.

                Many sleepless nights spent staring at the TV, listening to her interviews where she didn’t wear pink – she did that because she knew her mother would be watching. And then she wore pink once, and her saccharine smile when she looked at the camera… Marcy made her break the TV. She was doing it on purpose, Mrs Sinderson just knew. She was always trying to upset her mother. Many nights spent listening to her songs, picking apart her lyrics and seeing them for the deliberate, personal insults they were. Marcia was mocking her, openly, with every word she spoke, with every step she took, with her very presence…

Oh, she could only take so much abuse. And when Isa got that phone call, trying to tempt him away from her side, something snapped within Mrs Sinderson. Something changed.

                That little girl who hung onto her mother’s every word… Mrs Sinderson missed her little girl. Marcia – Marcia fucking Sinderson with her stupid flashy outfits and her songs and her taunting smile – that wasn’t her daughter.

Her little girl was dead, and Marcia would soon follow. Now, all that was left of her beautiful, awful, angelic, demonic daughter were the pictures in the albums. Here, Marcy was four forever. Here, Marcy was hers forever.

                Mrs Sinderson loved this Marcy.

                Such a shame. She really didn’t know where she went wrong.

 

* * *

 

                Rend was a quiet little town, and its occupants liked it that way. All the reporters swarming the Sinderson house, knocking on doors for interviews and shoving their cameras everywhere was terribly distressing, and the police quickly herded them away.

                Now it was evening, and it was all too quiet. Clouds swept over the floating island like fog, cold and suffocating. It turned mailboxes and streetlights into dark figures, cars and buildings into looming monsters. Faint sirens came from who knows where.

                It was strange, Alcor thought, to stand in Marcia’s front yard and not be able to see her house. He wandered closer, scraping his claws against the hood of Ambrose’s car. The window to the living room appeared in the shifting fog; it was lit up inside, and the light diffused into the greyness around it, giving it a hazy appearance that sharpened the closer he got.

                The curtains weren’t drawn. Alcor drew closer, and saw a figure sitting on the couch, head bowed over a brown book. The figure reached down and caressed the pages, her long, smooth fingers stroking from binding to edge, binding to edge, pressing hard.

                Her long brown hair covered her face. Mrs Sinderson looked a lot like her daughter - a little too much for Alcor’s comfort.

Where was Marcia, anyway? He frowned and scanned the room. When he didn’t spot her, he stepped through the glass. Now he could hear Mrs Sinderson’s little sobbing noises; he rolled his eyes and walked past her, into the kitchen.

The basement door stood in front of him, battered and ajar. He snuck a peek through the wood. The entire basement had been stripped clean but for a desk and chair, the boxes and candles seized as evidence and chalk circle carefully scoured away. Now that the clutter was gone, Alcor could see a long-faded bloodstain in the far corner of the room. It was clearly years old, but it called to him when he looked at it, telling him of crimes never solved, justice never served, families forever broken down in this dark place.

Alcor shuddered and turned away.

A ringing phone made him glance back at the living room. Mrs Sinderson’s phone vibrated on the table in front of her.

 _Vrrrr, vrrrr_. Mrs Sinderson made no effort to pick it up. She sat still on the couch, her head bowed over the photo album. Alcor frowned.

 _Vrrrr, vrrrr_. The phone juddered against the wood. Alcor could hear footsteps coming from the hall, soft, barefoot.

                He turned. A figure in a bathrobe was coming this way, brushing her long brown hair away from her face…

Mrs Sinderson walked out of the hall and stopped, staring with wide eyes at the figure sitting on the couch with the photo album.

 _Vrrrr, vrrrr_.

 _Vrrrr, vrrrr_.

                Alcor watched the surprise fade from Mrs Sinderson’s face. She frowned. “Who are you?" She stabbed a finger at the photo album. "Put that down!”

                “But it’s mine.” Said the figure.

“No, it’s not. It’s mine – it’s my property, and I’ll… I’ll…“

The figure on the couch began to darken. Its hair fell out, and its skin flecked off like ash, hanging around its body like a dense, grey fog. Mrs Sinderson took a step back as the figure rose, gripping the album so tight its arms trembled from the effort.

“IT’S MINE.” The figure thundered, and the lights began to flicker. “MY PICTURES. MY MEMORIES. _YOU STOLE THEM FROM ME_.”

Mrs Sinderson just gaped at the figure. A light shattered behind her, and she jumped. The figure gripped the album tighter, and the binding began to bend.

“And now, I’m _taking them back_.”

The pages blackened. They burst into flames with a puff of smoke, and Mrs Sinderson let out a cry.

“No, no, no! Stop! Don’t-“ She watched the figure drop the remains onto the stone, where they smouldered away, pages crumpling into dust. She breathed out, her eyes wide as saucers. “What did you do that for? What do you want?”

It said nothing. Mrs Sinderson knelt and started batting at the flames, and it just stared at her. Alcor knew that blank gaze.

Mrs Sinderson picked up a charred piece of the cover, and swore when it burned her fingers. “This is… do you have any idea… most of these were originals! How could you do this to me?”

“How could you do this to me. How could you do this to me. How could you do this to me?” The figure gestured at itself. Then, a little louder. “How could you, do this, to me? _How could you do this to me_!”

                Finally, Mrs Sinderson looked up at her. She frowned. “Marcia?”

                “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?” Ash fell freely from the figure’s body, their face crumbling away, loosing shape. “MY LIFE WAS NOT YOURS TO TAKE. IT WAS MINE! _IT WAS MINE_ , AND I LOVED IT LIKE YOU LOVED THIS STUPID BOOK!”

                Mrs Sinderson backed up. Her eyes were still wide as she watched the figure dissolve, but her lips pursed and she drew her arms up to her chest. The window began to tremble. The lights came on and off, on and off, on and off-

                “YOU TRIED TO GET RID OF ME! BUT I’M STILL HERE, AND FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE I’LL BE HERE.”

                Papers came flying off the table. The phone clattered to the ground.

                “FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, I’LL NEVER LET YOU FORGET WHAT YOU DID TO ME. WHAT YOU DID TO ME. _WHAT YOU DID TO ME_!”

                The windows shattered. Glass scattered across the floor, and fog rushed into the room.  It mingled with the smoke from the book, and it mingled with the formless figure, and its voice echoed like the wind itself inside the darkened house.

                _What you did to me_ … _what you did to me_ …

                Alcor watched Mrs Sinderson hesitate. Her eyes darted towards the book, and then she turned and rushed down the hallway. The fog followed her, pooling around her waist as she knocked on Isa’s door.

                He was quick to answer. “Mom? What was that?” He looked down at the fog, one earphone in, one hanging free. “What happ-“

                “Come with me.” She grabbed his earphone and ripped it out of his ear.

                “Hey-!”

                “Now. We have to go now.”

                Alcor watched them walk past the living room, watched Isa’s eyes go wide as he stared at the destruction. “What happened? Mom?”

They went outside. Alcor stepped out too, heard the jangle of keys.

                “Mom?” The red car roared to life, its headlights cutting through the fog. “Why are we using Dad’s car? He doesn’t want anybody driving it.”

Mrs Sinderson backed the car out of the driveway. Fog swirled around the back, and then she revved the engine and shot down the street. Alcor took his feet off the ground and followed.

Faster, faster, faster. Mrs Sinderson raced through narrow residential streets, her foot down on the accelerator, but she couldn’t outrun the fog. It was everywhere. The voice was everywhere.

_What you did to me… What you did to me…_

“Mom? We should slow down.” Isa reached out and gripped her arm. “We’re coming to the – the end of the road, here.”

The sky tram station lay ahead. It was shut off for the night, the cabins hanging still in the fog.

“Mom? Mom, you’ve got to stop. We’re gonna go off the side of the island – we’re…”

                Mrs Sinderson closed her eyes.

                “Mom? Mom, stop! Mom!”

And there was no more ground beneath the red car. It hung in the fog, still racing forwards, slowly pitching downwards. A scream echoed in the grey.

They were picking up speed. The car turned over in the air, and they came out the bottom of the cloud. They were but a speck of red now, falling and falling and falling towards the sea below, falling, falling, falling…

And then, silence.

Alcor stared down at the waves crashing against the shore. His mouth was open, but no words came out.

Silence.

Silence, and grey, formless fog that swirled around him for a moment, curling around his shoulders with a kind of thoughtfulness.

Then it withdrew, and Alcor turned around and watched it float back up to the island. He followed it. He landed on the road.

“Marcia.” He said. “Marcia. Where are you going?”

 _Ambrose…_ breathed the voice. _As long as he lives… he will not forget what he did to me… what he did to me…_

Alcor shook his head. “No, you don’t want to do that. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

 _I want this…_ The fog turned cold. _I want him to remember… I want them all to remember…_

“Marcia.”

_I am the consequence… as long as they live…_

“Marcia.”

_They will remember… they will remember… me._

                “Marcia, no.” Alcor looked down, and shook his head. “No. This is – you’ve… you’ve had your time. It’s time to let go, Marcia.”

The fog said nothing.

“I’ve let this go on too long. I’m…” His throat clammed up. He tried to swallow. “I’m sorry, Marcia. But it’s time.”

_No. I won’t go._

“Marcia, please.”

The wind picked up. _No! I’m not done!_

“I know you’re not.” He wiped his eyes. “And I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry-“

 _NO_!

“But it’s time. Please.” Alcor’s expression crumpled. “Don’t make me do it for you. I don’t want to do that to you.”

The wind howled, and clawed at his clothes. _NO! NO! NO! I WON’T GO! I WON’T GO!_

He reached out. “Marcia-“

 _I WON’T GO_! It shrank away from his hand. _GET AWAY FROM ME! MURDERER! MURDERER!_

Alcor flinched, and the fog pulled back. It was running away, running between his fingers, and he… he just couldn’t grab it. He couldn’t make himself.

It faded from view. Alcor let his arm fall. He closed his eyes, and he drew in a shaky breath. He let it out, and it came with a sob. He buried his face in his hands as the tears welled up in his throat.

And Alcor wept alone, underneath a thousand stars.


	10. Chapter 10

                Floating Islands. A favourite of tourists, and a nightmare for transportation. Communities founded by stubborn people who refused to leave their homes after the California Incident, and maintained by their weathered ancestors. There were bigger islands – New Angeles, the Winged City, was home to almost two million people – but on the whole, most of them were like Rend, small and secluded.

                Then there were the islands that nobody dared live on. These were islands still tortured by demonic magic; islands with unstable orbits that rose and fell into the sea; islands that twisted their inhabitants, made their claws sharp and their minds dull; islands that came apart in great explosions and pieced themselves back together over centuries.

                The Californian Island Federation had abandoned many of these islands long ago. Some of them, however, had been made useful.

                Fnallak Drop High Security Prison was one of these islands. Located just south of the sunken ruins of San Francisco, it had been ensnared by a magical vortex and its gravity had been inverted… most of the time. Its first tentative settlers had been tossed into the sea when a storm rolled over, and for years after that it had stood abandoned, shaking off birds that dared roost on its stalactite forests.

                Now, it was one of the most feared prisons in the world. Its inmates were constantly chained to railings and handles, for their own safety – the gravity shakes could be very unpredictable.

                Alcor felt one coming on now. He watched loose dirt rise up around the perimeter. Guards started to float on their harnesses, paying the phenomenon little mind. One of them swore and made a grab for her phone, but she was too late, and it began the long plunge into the sea that hung like a sky above their heads.

                The other guards laughed, but Alcor shivered. That was an uncomfortably familiar scene.

                He turned back to the fence. The magical wards around a place like this were a lot stronger than those he generally encountered, and since he’d rather not raise every alarm in the island by breaking in, he was doing it slowly. Finding chinks in the barrier, pulling and poking at them until there was a hole wide enough to go inside.

                It was like sticking his fingers through a thorn bush. After a lot of careful maneuvering and a generous dollop of demon magic, he managed it. He slipped past the fencing just as the gravity began to settle down.

                The guard who dropped her phone was making her way back inside, pulling her harness along the railing with her. Alcor followed her as she scanned her card to open a door and entered into a reception area of sorts.

                Cameras were pointed every which way, and the room was bristling with armed guards. One of them frowned in Alcor’s direction – they clearly had a touch of the Sight. He passed through a wall before there was trouble.

                Empty hall. He kept going, and ended up in a recreation room. It was a fact you could only tell by the words ‘RECREATION ROOM’ printed above the locked door; the whole area was grey, and the seats were arranged like a classroom, facing a small, sad-looking TV nailed to the wall. It was set to the news, and there was no sign of a remote.

_Concerts don’t usually make the news, but today, a very special one is happening in New Hollywood. Last year, the murder of Marcia Sinderson by her parents set the nation on fire._

                Alcor paused. He took a seat.

_Today, on the eve of what would have been her twenty-second birthday, friends and fans are bidding her a heartfelt goodbye. Stick with us for later, when we interview Henrietta Rockit and her fellow band members on their hopes for this night and their thoughts about the late Miss Sinderson._

_For anyone interested in attending, the concert is taking place in the Transcendence Arena located in New Hollywood. There is no entrance fee. In other news, the flag discovered on the Moon-_

                The gravity began to destabilize again, and the TV went to static as magical waves distorted its signal. Alcor rose from his chair, conjured a remote, and turned it off. Then he opened his hand, letting it drop and clatter on the ceiling.

                He moved on.

                A long hall of cells filled with bored souls. A sprawling cafeteria, employees scrubbing dirty trays and setting up for lunch. Alcor floated up a floor; he was getting closer.

                He could feel it – he could feel her.

                The cells here were smaller, the security tighter. Alcor frowned at the presence of a magic dampening ward. It was giving him a headache, so he stopped floating and grabbed the railing. Good thing he did; the gravity lurched and his feet left the floor for a few seconds. He let out a yelp and scrambled for footing.

                Once it was over, Alcor walked fast. The cell numbers counted up as he approached – 34, 35, 36, 37, 38… 39.

                The solid, windowless metal door of cell 39 loomed in front of him. This was it.

                He took a breath, and reached out a hand. His headache flared up as he passed through the metal, but he closed his eyes and kept going.

                Once he was through, he opened them. Darkness. There were vague figures as his vision adjusted: that shadow was a sink, that tall figure was a shower, that void was a bed… and there was a person on it, lying still, yet not asleep.

                Ambrose. Alcor’s eyes narrowed as he recognized the man. There wasn’t any sign of her, though. He looked around, and then turned to flip on the light.

 _Click_. It didn’t do anything. Ambrose sat up in bed.

                “Avalpur?”

                He tried the switch again. _Click, click_ , and the lights hummed to life.

                Whoa, the ceiling was much lower than he was expecting. He glanced around the grey room again, and that was when he spotted something in the corner – it almost looked like a little pile of soot, grey and lifeless.

                “Avalpur, is that you?” Ambrose’s voice cracked when he spoke. He’d looked like a skeleton before, but now he looked like a ghost, with sickly pale skin, sunken cratered eyes and a white jumpsuit. He had the gnarled fingers of somebody twice his age, which Alcor saw as he moved to push himself up. “Are you there? Help me, please help me…”

                His feet touched the floor, and the little soot pile in the corner _moved_. It rose up like a wave, ash and darkness in the air rolling towards Ambrose in a great force. The lights flickered, and there were no words but images, terrible images of charred skin and teeth fragments and bone and gristle and pain and _what you did to me_ …

                Alcor grimaced and stepped back. Ambrose screamed as the darkness engulfed him. The lights died, and there came a sharp rapping from the cell door.

                “Hey!” A guard shouted. “How many times do we have to tell you? It’s quiet time, shut up in there!”

                The darkness subsided, leaving Ambrose huddled under his thin blanket.

                Alcor turned on the light again. _Click click, hummm_. The soot pile was sitting in the corner of the room again, just as lifeless as it had been before.

                Maybe it was the gravity acting up, but when he looked at it, his stomach turned over. He swallowed it down and walked over.

                “H-hey…” He cleared his throat. “Hey, Marcia. It’s Alcor. Do you… do you remember me?”

                Nothing happened to the soot pile. Alcor laughed nervously; this must look so stupid.

                “It’s okay. Look, I came here because I’ve got a surprise for you. Remember that memorial concert you wanted to go to a year ago?” He smiled. “You made it. It’s today, I-I can take you.”

                Nothing happened to the soot pile.

                His smile stretched, and he reached out a hand. “Here, I’ll help you-“

                He touched it, and it launched itself at him. Gory images bombarded his mind and sharp stings like knife stabs prickled his skin. At that moment the gravity inverted, too, and he smacked his head against the concrete ceiling.

                Alcor growled, and grabbed a fistful of the darkness. “Marcia, stop.”

                Now it was trying to run away. It slashed against his hand, and it threw up pictures of knives, summoning circles, souls being ripped to shreds…

                “No, I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to help you, but you need to calm down. Marcia.”

                But it was no use, and it kept up a frenzied struggle. His hand was getting cut up; he switched arms, and he talked softly, and he held on tight when the gravity switched again, but it wasn’t working. It just kept struggling and panicking, the cry of _what you did to me_ getting louder and louder and drowning out his words.

                He felt how scared it was. How scared she was, alone and confused and being dragged somewhere she didn’t want to go by someone she didn’t recognize. He felt her tattered soul, the holes where her mind had been bleeding fear, begging to return to the only thing she wanted to do anymore.

                Alcor’s expression turned stricken. “This is just cruel,” He said, more to himself than anything else. “This is just… I can’t. I can’t.”

                He let her go. The instant she was out of his grip, she dissolved back into that soot pile in the corner again.

                Alcor hung his head.

                “This is my fault.” The words came slowly. “I… I’m such a coward. I knew exactly how this was going to play out. I knew it was just going to keep getting worse and worse and you weren’t going to be able to let go, but I couldn’t end it. I just couldn’t, I hoped…” He shook his head. “I don’t even know what I hoped. Just something other than this. Anything.”

                He paused. Then he laughed, mirthlessly. “And look at me now. Too scared to even see you for a year, and now I’m trying to butt in – ‘Hey, you want to go sing at some stupid concert you don’t even remember?’ Stupid. Stupid!” Alcor kicked the sink. “I hate this! I hate this so much, I…”

                He breathed, and he unclenched his fists. Then he sighed, deeply.

                “The sooner you’re back in the reincarnation cycle, the sooner you can heal.” He turned back to her, his head bowed, his shoulders shuddering. “I’m so sorry. This isn’t fair to you. Nothing… nothing was ever fair to you.”

                With shaking hands, he reached out again. Before he could touch her, though, she rose up. Alcor watched her move past him; he frowned and turned around.

                “Avalpur-“ Ambrose had one foot on the concrete floor. He shrieked as Marcia threw herself at him. “Avalpur, vanquish this ghost! I am your most loyal servant, give me peace, please! I’ll do anything!”

                He hid himself under the covers again, and Marcia drew back. Alcor looked at her sitting in the corner again.

 _Vanquish this ghost_. His lip curled.

                “No. Not here. Not like this.”

                He paused, thinking. An idea struck him, and an unpleasant smile curled itself around his face. His wings twitching, he approached the shuddering blankets piled up on the bed.

                “ _Ambrose_ ,” Alcor forced the name between his teeth. Ambrose stared up at him, sunken eyes wide as saucers.

                “Avalpur? Is that really you?”

                What kind of two bit cultist doesn’t recognize the Dreambender… whatever. Alcor shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Yes. Yes, it’s me.”

                “Thank god! Avalpur, please, I’ve been living in torment. The ghost – Marcia – you need to deal with her!” He grabbed Alcor’s suit, and it took all the demon’s willpower not to take off his hands. “Please, Avalpur. Have mercy on your loyal servant. Have mercy…”

                Alcor brushed him off. “Oh, sure, I can take care of her… for a price.”

                “Anything.”

                “Anything?”

                “Anything!”

                “Alright, buddy, put ‘er there.” He held out a flaming hand, and Ambrose took it without hesitation. He pulled Ambrose in a little closer, his grip tightening and his smile turning unpleasant. “I got a secret to share with you, though.”

                Ambrose blinked.

                “I lied. I’m not Avalpur.” His grin stretched as the horror dawned on Ambrose’s face. “I killed your precious demon a long time ago. Ripped him to shreds for what you did to Marcia.”

                Ambrose tried to pull his hand away. “Wha-“

                “It’s disgusting, what you did. Really. I’d kill you right now, but the sad thing is humans like you will always exist. Humans who genuinely believe they’re a person of towering importance, that everyone around them is nothing but a tool to use or an obstacle to remove.” He chuckled and shook his head. “The truth, though, is that you’re not important. You’ll pass from this world, and nobody will mourn you. Everything you have worked for has turned to dust. Your existence has been completely and utterly pointless, and you know what? I think you should live with that.”

                Alcor gripped his clammy hand a bit more. “That being said, maybe you can contribute to the greater good for once. You won’t mind a bit of an out-of-body experience, right? Don’t worry,” He showed all his teeth. “It’s nothing you haven’t done to Marcia.”

                Before Ambrose could reply, he stepped back and _pulled_. Every muscle in the man’s body tensed, and he let out the start of a scream before everything relaxed and his eyes rolled back into his head. A grey, ghostly soul emerged from Ambrose’s arm; his body went limp, and Alcor let it fall face-first onto the floor.

                The soul he quickly cupped his hand over, squishing it down to the size of a baseball. He held it with one fist, feeling it flutter and push against his palm. Strangely warm.

                Then, he turned back to Marcia. He held the soul above her, and watched her slowly float towards it. He moved it right, and she followed, trailing darkness. The blind panic from earlier was gone.

                The ghost of a smile flitted across Alcor’s face. No panic, no expectations – just one, last, good, night. He’d take care of her.

                His smile died. Then, he’d take care of her.

 

* * *

 

 _Dum, Dum, Dum_ – three beats of a drum. The trill of a saxophone: _dununununu_. Microphone feedback, a tapping on the cymbals - _ting, ting, ting_ – the steady roar of a crowd, and the open sky above them slowly darkening. The concert was just about to start.

                Alcor sat back and grinned. “We got good seats, huh?”

                The question wasn’t addressed to anyone in particular. It was half-aimed towards the wispy cloud of darkness hanging over his shoulder, but he wasn’t expecting her to reply.

                “Yeah.” He said. “Perks of being a demon: no lines.”

                Somebody walked across stage, and the crowd cheered. It was Marcia’s old friend Henrietta; Alcor could see her waving on the big screens lining the edges of the arena. She leaned into a microphone.

                “Just a few more minutes, folks. Thank you for your patience.”

                The cheering died off, and the chatter started up again. Alcor rapped his knuckles against the armrest.

                 “The suspense! It’s killing me.” He chuckled nervously. “You know, I, uh, I don’t think I’ve been to a concert before. Maybe once or twice on summons, but just sitting down and listening to one? Don’t think I’ve done that before. I know, heh, you’d think that was outrageous.”

                Marcia drifted towards his fist, which was still enclosed around Ambrose’s soul. He cleared his throat and switched hands.

                “Anyway, I guess I’m still discovering firsts for myself.” He looked down at Marcia, and tried to smile. “Hundreds of years old, and yet you still find ways to teach me something new.”

                The entire arena darkened, and a hush fell over the crowd. Alcor leaned forwards as he saw the stage light up.

                “Looks like it’s starting!” Applause thundered out. He clapped with his fist. “This is gonna be awesome – what’s happening? Oooh, pyrotechnics.”

                Sparks streamed up from the back of the stage. Alcor felt a coldness on his knee; when he looked down, he saw Marcia had settled on his leg. He started to reach out a hand, but thought better of it and let her be.

                “Hello, New Hollywood!” Henrietta raised a hand. “Big crowd! Anyone traveled a long way to make it?”

                A lot of hands went up. Alcor raised his own.

                “Alright, that’s awesome. We’ve got a good show for you tonight. Lotta talented musicians playing, lotta good times, but first, you know, we’re gonna slow down and talk about the reason we’re all here. Can we give a hand to Marcia Sinderson!”

                It was the loudest ovation yet. People stood up and whistled, held up signs, chanted ‘Mar-ci-a, Mar-ci-a!’ Alcor beamed and gave his own round of applause to the darkness resting on his lap.

                “They’re talking about you, Marcia.” The darkness twitched, and he liked to think that was her version of a smile. “It’s cool, isn’t it?”

                It lasted for a long time. When it finally died down, Henrietta took the mic again.

                “Now, if any of you guys have been to my shows, you know I don’t ramble. You know, I could say a lot about Marcia, but I think it’s better to say one thing, and say it well. So I’ll tell you why this is gonna be a happy concert and not some sort of weird musical funeral. It’s ‘cause of Marcia, that’s why.”

                The darkness shifted on Alcor’s lap. Marcia leaned forwards; he thought she might have recognised something, but he moved Ambrose’s soul out of the way and she followed it. No expectations, he told himself, and looked back to the stage.

                “It’s ‘cause Marcia, she never liked to dwell on the sad things, you know?” Henrietta laughed a little bit. “No, she just wanted to have fun, make the most of life. So tonight, we’re gonna follow her spirit and we’re gonna have a damn good time playing music! Who’s ready!”

                The resounding cheer nearly drowned out Alcor’s thoughts. Still, he was getting into this. He clapped harder.

                “Alright!” The drums started to play, and Henrietta backed up. “We’re starting this off right with Marcia’s very first single – she sang this at a bar when she was sixteen years old and rode it to stardom! ‘Don’t Need Roots’, everyone! Here we go…”

 _Du-dun, du-dun, du-dun-dun-dun_ , went the drums, and Alcor felt it in his chest. Wow, this was _loud_.

                “Jeez,” Alcor looked around. “I feel like these humans should be wearing ear protection. I don’t know…”

                He trailed off. He felt something on his knee.

 _Tap tap,_ he felt. _Tap, tap tap, tap tap_.

                He froze just as Henrietta took the mic. “No home, no past, just the open sky. No legs, no roots, just the clouds so high…”

                _Ta-tap, ta-tap, ta-tap, ta-tap… tap tap tap, tap._

                Alcor looked down. “Marcia?” He asked. He couldn’t hear his voice over the roar; he couldn’t hear the tremble in it.

                Marcia rose. This time, she didn’t go for Ambrose’s soul. She stood there, and then she began to move forwards.

                His eyes widened. He shot out of his seat and followed close behind. People got in the way, and he passed through them, ignoring their surprised protests.

                The music was blaring louder and louder as they approached the stage. Alcor reached out and touched Marcia; skin took shape over shadow, hair grew long in wild brown locks, and a face formed over facelessness. She stumbled over the steps like she wasn’t sure how to work her legs anymore. Alcor thought he might have made a mistake, but she grasped the railing and kept moving forwards.

                They were at the base of the stage. Security guards moved to intercept her, but Alcor raised his arms and parted them.

                Marcia walked onstage.

                Henrietta had her eyes shut tight as she sung into the microphone, but the drummer turned to look at her as she passed him. Confusion passed to recognition and then swiftly into shock; he froze with his drumsticks mid-swing. The song lurched and faded out.

                “Jem,” Henrietta turned. “What happened? Why’d you-“

                Her eyes met Marcia’s, and she staggered back, her jaw going slack, her face paling fast.

                “Ma-“ She tried to speak. “Mar-Marcia…”

                Marcia walked past her. Right to the front of the stage, she went, right to the spotlight. She stopped in front of the microphone, and stared out into a sea of faces, and, beyond them, the stars above.

                She stood there, absolutely still. Cameras swerved and focused on her face, the crowd began to gasp and mutter, and she did nothing.

                The moment dragged on uncomfortably long. Henrietta was still frozen, but the bassist began to creep around her and reach for the microphone. Alcor walked onstage, and finally she turned.

                She fixed her eyes… on the soul in his fist. Her gaze was as flat and lifeless as a pile of ash, and he cringed. That little glimmer of recognition was gone; now what?

                Alcor hesitated… and then an idea struck him. He raised both of his hands, and he smacked his fist against his palm.

                _Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap…_

                He kept going. The bassist paused and stared at him. The cameras swung around to point at him, and he saw his face pasted across all the big screens. Marcia’s expression didn’t change, and he fought the instinct to step back and fade into the shadows.

                This wasn’t working. He needed a new plan, he needed-

                The clash of a drumset. Alcor jumped and looked to the side; the drummer had started playing the intro again. A second later, the bassist stepped back and strummed the chords.

With the drums beating out a steady rhythm, Alcor watched as Marcia began to tap her foot. It was slow and unsteady at first, but soon her whole body began to move to the music. Her forehead creased a little, like everything here was so very familiar to her…

                She turned back to the crowd. Almost instinctively, her hand reached out and grasped the microphone.

                And Marcia Sinderson began to sing.

                “No home, no past, just the open sky…” She sang, and the crowd erupted like a volcano. Her voice rang clear above the clamour. “No legs, no roots, just the clouds so high. I’m free, I’m free, and I don’t know how but from this point on I’m gonna live in the now!”

                She wrenched the microphone off the stand and held it high above her head. The cameras flashed, and the crowd screamed and cheered, and Alcor stared at her as she started to dance. Like everything else, it was slow at first, but with every step a little bit of her memory, a little bit of her style came back to her.

                By the time she hit the chorus, she owned that stage.

                Holy shit, Alcor thought as he watched her. This was Marcia. It was like seeing her dancing in the nightclub again; it was the same infectious energy, the same utter freedom.

                He looked at Marcia, and he could almost hear her voice in his ear. _Dance, doofus_!

                Alcor laughed a little, and he started moving to the rhythm. He stomped his feet to the beat, and he bopped his head, and – what the hell – he unfurled his wings and glided himself across the stage.

                He found himself face to face with Marcia, singing her heart out and dancing with a grace he couldn’t hope to match. He grinned at her, but when they locked eyes he could see hers were still blank. The only shine in them came from the spotlight; she still looked confused, like she wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing. He could see it wasn’t really Marcia – it was muscle memory, a little flicker in her soul that hadn’t yet been stripped away.

                She took a step towards him, and he stood frozen as she took his arm and did a little twirl off of his fingers. It wasn’t Marcia, but she turned her back to him and for one moment, he could pretend.

                Alcor closed his eyes, and he danced along, and there was no one in the world but him and no time in the world but this one moment. He never wanted it to end.

                …

                It ended. The song began to fade out, and Marcia’s voice held one last note, and he opened his eyes. Silence, then a thundering applause that rang in his ears, words he didn’t care about, and Marcia, standing in silhouette beneath the spotlight.

                He could hear it, simmering in her thoughts. _What they did to her… what they did to her…_ He could see her turn the microphone over and inspect it, the instrument she knew so intimately suddenly totally unfamiliar to her mind. She looked around, and she spotted Alcor.

                Her eyes slid down to his fist, and fixed there. Blank, and still, and lifeless.

                Henrietta didn’t seem to notice. She was moving over to Marcia, tears in her eyes, her arms raised to wrap her up in a hug; Alcor rushed to stop her.

                The show was over.

                He quickly whisked her away from all the noise and the people to somewhere quiet. Anywhere quiet – he didn’t notice where he was going until he arrived at the shore of the lake in Gravity Falls. The night here was cloudy, and the water was black, and he knew what he had to do.

                Marcia was standing in front of him, absentmindedly bending one of her fingers back. She went too far, and a shot of pain startled her into a dark rage; she started beating the microphone against the bark of the nearest tree. Bloody knuckles scared her further and she let out an inhuman screech that made Alcor cringe.

                “Marcia.” When that didn’t work, he held out his fist. “Do you want to hold this?”

                She stopped dead and stared at his fingers. Alcor took a deep breath.

                “Hold your hands out.” He gently positioned them. “Like this. Good.”

                The trees rustled as he opened his fist and let Ambrose’s soul slip into her cupped fingers.

                “There.” Alcor shuffled around her, positioning himself behind her back. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

                He stared at her hair, billowing in the breeze. A storm was coming, and he reached a shaking hand out.

                “You’re okay,” He said, and then he plunged his arm into her neck. He grabbed her soul and pulled it from the body. Quickly as he could, before the surprise could turn to panic, he tessered them into the Mindscape.

                A thousand lights hung all around them, like stars. Alcor felt Marcia’s soul begin to be pulled away from him; it was a gentle force, like holding seaweed in a stream. The tattered ends of her being began to drift in the direction of the flow.

                Alcor tried for a smile, even when his eyes were red and the corners of his mouth turned down.

                “Goodbye, Marcia.” He said, and let her go. He watched as she was carried away into the stars, her soul fading from view, fading to somewhere he could not follow, fading, fading…

                Gone.

                Forever gone.

                She'd come back in another form, with another face, but Marcia? Forever gone, forever lost to time, like so many faces before her.

                Alcor closed his eyes, and bowed his head. He was… no, he couldn’t say he was okay with this. He wasn't. But he thought about the concert, singing on stage in that one last good night with her… and he could say that maybe, one day, he’d feel better about this.

                For now… who knows.

                Maybe he should go find that nightclub again. Put on a song. Sing. Dance.

                Lose himself, for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for emotional and physical abuse and suicide.


End file.
